The Mail Order Bride
by Basmathgirl
Summary: In an AU for The Runaway Bride, Miss Donna Noble and Dr John Smith just happen to meet as before. Except this time it is the 1820s, he appears to be a Canadian trapper and she is arriving at the trading station expecting to become someone's mail order bride.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** no, I do not own any of these characters, but I'd be very willing to give them a good home.  
 **A/N:** this is full of historical inaccuracies, was not researched to within an inch of its life, and is basically a total work of fiction. I have no idea if this is how things happened in Canada - just thought that I ought to point that out - but I am _very_ aware how Brits think.  
 **A/N2:** you can blame a flippant remark I made, and  cookie-moi, for this one.  
 **A/N3:** in case any of you have been wondering where I've been lately, this is the thing that's been preoccupying me when I've had the energy to write.

* * *

 **The Mail Order Bride**

.

There was a strange "putt, putt, putt" sound as John Smith stood looking out across the water from the quay of the small trading port, towards a vessel called the Princess Victoria. Rather a grand name for such a small insignificant ferry, he thought as his eyes followed its laboured progress. No doubt it had been named in honour of the young heir to the British throne and would be dated once she became queen.

None of that worried John as he took a well-earned breather from unloading his wares, took off his hat to wipe his brow, and considered how full his pockets would soon be thanks to the trading post and port that transported goods to far flung places around the British Empire. Hopefully the incoming ferry would cause him to become prosperous.

Turning slowly, the Princess Victoria glided ungracefully towards the quay. It was a beautifully sunny day, with the sun glistening off the river water, but the throng of people gathering closer to the dock made him uneasy. It had been quite a while since he had taken the opportunity to leave his remote home and just contemplate the hustle and bustle of the small port.

It seemed weird that once upon a time he would have considered such a thriving place to be a quiet backwater, compared to his hometown of London; but his life had changed a great deal since then. In the meantime he had married. That wasn't the only noteworthy thing he had done. After serving in the army in different parts of the empire, he had emigrated to Canada, learned a new trade, and then sadly been widowed a year later, having lost his wife along with their young children. All of that had seemed to have happened within the blink of an eye. But he thought of them; each and every day.

Never mind. He was alone now and could cope with that. Except for when he needed money, of course; hence his trip into the nearest large port to his home in order to sell the pelts he had collected. No doubt the ferry that was edging closer and closer would later take his goods and enable their reaching parts of the world he would never see. Not now, anyway. At one time his wanderlust had led him to many a foreign field, but he had lost the taste for it once he had landed on this part of the Atlantic coastline.

Shouts rang out as some dockworkers requested ropes to guide the ferry into position, and the passengers could be seen milling about on the deck; eager to disembark. Nothing or no one in particular caught his attention until the bonnet of one woman slipped, revealing a shock of ginger hair that had previously been hidden. John immediately straightened his body to stand taller, bringing his hand out of his overcoat pocket to adjust his worn frock coat and hat as he did so; intrigued by her frantic efforts to gain control of erroneous wisps of hair that thrashed about around her face.

In one gloved hand she held an ancient portmanteau, whilst she used the other hand to prod, tuck, and jab at the errant strands of her hair. She was distracted enough by her task of correcting the position of her bonnet to not concentrate properly on her footing upon the deck, her long skirts swirling dangerously around her ankles, and before he was even aware it was happening, John had surged forward to assist her onto the gangplank. With a flair of gentlemanliness he had thought long gone within himself, he held out a hand to steady her floundering body, and to his delight, she accepted the offer without any hesitation.

"Thank you, kind sir," she politely said in an extremely familiar accent as she stepped off the gangplank and onto solid ground; and he found himself being washed by her beaming graceful smile.

"You're welcome, my lady," he replied, tipping his hat; hoping to gain further favour. But alas she averted her gaze and trained her eyes on the nearby townsfolk instead.

"Could you tell me where the post office can be found, please?" she then politely requested.

He waited until she turned a pleasant smile in his direction before he supplied the information she wanted. "It's over there, third building on the left," he answered.

To his dismay, she absently rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, as though she were getting rid of some grime found there. Then she flashed him another polite smile that reached her clear blue eyes as he felt himself being sucked into their glory.

She, in turn, wondered why this dirt-laden man was looking at her so intently from beneath the wide brim of his hat. His huge brown eyes and bushy beard reminded her of a thin friendly hedgehog as she regarded him up-close. Why was he acting like a drunken slug? It wasn't as though she must have sounded strange to him, because he evidently came from London too. Unless that was the reason for his scrutiny, and he was suffering from a form of homesickness. It was possible, she noted to herself. And there was a pleading quality to his large expressive brown eyes that also spoke of longing of a different kind as he continued to gaze at her. Was he what they called 'a trapper'? He certainly didn't look like a craftsman she had ever seen before, and there was an unfamiliar faint odour that clung to him. "I am grateful for your information," she told him. "Thank you." Giving him another nod, she then picked up a dark brown battered suitcase from a choice of four such items placed nearby on the quayside and stepped towards the building he had pointed out.

Now left alone as she strode away, John silently followed her progress with his eyes; halting only when one of the dock men accidentally bumped into him.

"You going to stand there all day, Doc?" the man asked him.

"No, Jim. I erm…," John stammered, brought out of his wandering thoughts of soft skin and sun-kissed freckles. "I was just…"

The man smiled knowingly and watched him look towards the woman's back. "She's a pretty one; and no ring on her finger. Too good for the likes of you."

John glared at him. Why did these people always presume he was nothing and came from nowhere? "Perhaps I'm too good for her," he proposed.

"Yeah," the man pretended to agree; laughing as he did so. "She wouldn't be interested."

As the man walked away, John very reluctantly conceded that there was some truth in Jim's words despite the temptation to start a mental list of all his good qualities; and then went about his business whilst keeping a careful eye out for any other women to disembark and distract his thoughts.

~o0o~

Picking up the bottom hem of her long skirts, the woman confidently walked passed the small painted wooden sign that proclaimed this trading place to be Galliport, along what must be the high street and stepped up onto the walkway that led into the mail office. From behind the counter within she was greeted by the clerk, who blinked at her with the aid of a pair of squat round spectacles.

"Good morning, madam. How may I be of assistance?" he welcomed her in.

"Good morning, sir," she replied, placing her hands upon the countertop before him as though she wanted to grab his attention. "I believe you may have a message for me. My instructions were to come and ask once I arrived in this port."

"Maybe," he slowly agreed, and moved in front of a drawer, pulling it out to reveal a stack of papers. "What's the name?"

"Miss Noble. Miss Donna Noble," she answered.

His fingers began to expertly shift through the drawer contents. "And who provided your instructions?" he queried as he did so.

"The Harkness Agency," she supplied, lifting her chin up in defiance; daring him to make light of her situation.

"Oh," he drawled, recognising the name and nature of her business. Within seconds he found the necessary envelope. "There you go, Miss Noble. Good luck and have yourself a fine day."

It was with some trepidation that she took the offered envelope from his fingers; pausing momentarily to wave it in front of her face as though it would dissipate some of the heat that collected there. "Thank you, sir." Feeling his interested gaze on her, she turned and opened the envelope; quickly reading the contents.

"Well?" he asked. "Who's the lucky man?"

She had no intention of revealing the contents of the letter, but this man might have the necessary information that would help guide the rest of her life. "I need to find a Mr Smith. Mr John Smith, to be precise."

"What, Doc?" the man gasped out in recognition. "We call him 'the Doctor' round these parts," he then explained.

"So I'd gathered," she tetchily responded. The nervous disposition of the situation was obviously getting to her, she realised, so she tried to rein in any further tart response. Her future would be spent with a man who had a practical-based nickname, but it might exist for other reasons. "Is he a real doctor?"

To her annoyance the clerk laughed. "No, he ain't no real doctor. Merely sounds like one at times and he takes out the odd bad tooth when he comes into town."

"I see," she acknowledged. "I would be grateful, my good man, if you could point me in this Doctor's direction, please?"

"Certainly, ma'am." The clerk then trod purposefully over to the main door and peered out towards the water. "You'll find him standing by the dock."

"By the ferry?" she blurted out in annoyance. "I've just come from there."

"Then you'll be able to find it without any trouble at all," the clerk commented as pleasantly as he could. He then took pity on her standing so forlornly in his store, and added, "Doc is the one in the duster by the quay."

"What's a duster?" she started to ask, but the question remained unasked when she saw her earlier rescuer again. "That man standing there with the face full of hair, is he Mr John Smith?" she sought to confirm, pointing at the man in question.

"Yes ma'am," the clerk confirmed. "Indeed he is. He's a might weird, but friendly enough. Can almost talk your ear off if you're not careful, once he gets going."

"How wizard," she muttered to herself. Straightening her clothing, she garnered all her courage before thanking the clerk once more and stepped out into the street; aiming towards the man she now knew to be John Smith.

~o0o~

Striding now with purpose, Donna noted that he quickly looked up from his task, doing whatever it was he had been doing to something in what looked like a large dinghy-come-canoe. Somehow his lankiness had its own grace as he moved, but it was the intelligent expression in his eyes that caught her attention.

"Excuse me, are you Mr Smith? Mr John Smith, commonly known as 'the Doctor'?" she called out to him as she got closer.

"I am," he warily supplied, resting a foot on the edge of his vessel as though he were about to jump over the side. "Who's asking and why?"

She stopped three paces away and took in a gulp of air for encouragement. It wouldn't pay to be hesitant. Not now, at the final moment. "How do you do, Mr Smith. I'm Miss Noble. You may have been expecting me."

He found the same gloved hand from earlier in the day being offered towards him to shake, so he did so, with great relish. "How do you do, Miss Noble. It is lovely to meet you properly, but why would I be expecting you?"

Her smile faltered slightly. "Because you have hopefully been informed of my impending arrival."

"Er, no," he denied, adding in a scratch to his forehead as his mind hit a blank. "Please explain."

Immediately her heart began to beat faster in dismay. This would not do. Not at all. Her fist scrunched up the information envelope as she forced herself to calmly tell him, "I've been sent by the agency."

Instead of him appearing pleased, he became more confused. "Agency? What agency? I'm sorry, Miss Noble, but I have not contacted an agency. Are you expecting to buy some land from me? Because I have none for sale."

"No, Mr Smith. You do not understand. Land is not my intention," she tightly replied. She then lowered her voice to say, "The arrangement was made by the Harkness Agency."

To her horror, his frown deepened. "It still means nothing to me. I can only think of possible employment, and I assure you that I have no such position to offer you. There has been a great misunderstanding."

"There has indeed," she spat out through gritted teeth, wondering why he was being so dense. "The fact of the matter is, Mr Smith that I have been sent to become your wife."

"What?! Wife?!" he cried out in shock; and leapt onto the quayside. "No, no, no, no! Why do you think I sent for a wife?" he demanded. His hands reached out towards her, imploring her to offer a logical explanation.

Hesitantly, she held out the piece of paper that had been tightly grasped within her hand, reluctant to relinquish the tatty note despite John's attempts to retrieve it from her grip. Once she lost it to him, after a small tussle, Donna lowered her head in disgrace. This was not what she had wanted to happen; far from it.

"Wife!" John exclaimed again, having read the letter of introduction. "I've no idea who this Mr Harkness is or why he has arranged for you to come here. Why would I want a wife?" he loudly pondered.

This was shaming. "To erm…" Donna cleared her throat in a vain attempt to regain some moisture in her suddenly dry mouth. "To look after you. Every man needs that," she reasoned. "It's not every woman that needs a husband, beyond the social disgrace of not having one, of course, because I had been employed for many years."

He scowled at her. "How can I provide you with any possible social standing you would want? My finances are extremely limited."

Oh! He wanted to play dirty, did he? Well Donna Noble was not going to let THAT happen, not now, not ever. It was bad enough being practically sold off by her family into this arranged marriage, but for him to leave her now possibly destitute was a step too far.

"Now look here, my good man," she commanded, thrusting an irate digit in his direction. "I have just travelled half way across the world to become your wife. If you reject me, then I am left with nothing. No money to return home and no money to pay back The Harkness Matrimonial Agency the funds already spent by my family on built up debts. The only way I could survive here without you is by selling myself; thus making my body available to more men than just you. But that ain't going to happen; yet apparently you're fine with that, so I'll just sit here and quietly wait to starve to death." Donna then plonked her bottom down onto her upturned suitcase and pinned him with a dark look. "Good day, Mr Smith. It's been lovely knowing you."

"Hang on a tick!" he protested, holding up his hands to halt her stern words. "I am the injured party here; not you. Some unknown fool has paid for you to come here, without my permission or consent, and I will not comply."

She pointed to the crumpled paper now squashed within his fist. "So you're okay with them being paid for doing nothing and for me to die on this spot. Well thanks a bundle, mate! I hope you sleep really soundly in your bed tonight; assuming of course that unjust men sleep. May you and your pillow be very happy together, alone out in the woods, or wherever it is that you hole up."

Her words stung him, but he was not to be so easily persuaded. "Fine!" he spat. "I'm better off on my own anyway."

"I'm sure you are," she agreed. "Especially when you fall ill, are tired or hungry. And those clothes on your back just wash themselves."

"Clothes?" He looked pathetically down at himself and fingered the grimy material of first the collar of his shirt and then his jacket. It had been a long time since he had looked after himself properly, let alone shared a meal with any decent company in his home. Suddenly the thought of having someone provide all that and more for him was very appealing. "What else can you do?" he risked asking.

Now knowing she might be winning him round, Donna pointed towards her suitcase. "I've got a canister of tea on me, if you're interested. The ship's crew said tea was scare here, so I've been carrying it with me ever since before I arrived in this country, just in case."

John's face lit up with delight. "Perhaps I've been a little hasty…"

~o0o~


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

.

The talk of a possible cup of tea later had created a truce between them. Of course tea would require a teapot, a kettle of boiling water, and a home that it belonged in. There was much to discuss first.

"It's a lovely day. Perhaps we ought to get you out of the sun, and discuss this," John suggested, pointing along the riverbank. "Somewhere you can rest after your journey."

Donna nodded her agreement, and bent to pick up her suitcase.

"Here, let me, Miss Noble." He leapt forward to take hold of her cases, accidentally brushing his fingers against hers as he did so. "A lady shouldn't have to carry her own luggage," he insisted, not knowing a flush had coloured his weather-beaten skin.

"Thank you," she acknowledged, now feeling awkward with this unforeseen but pleasant intimacy. "Which direction?"

With a wave of his hand, he gestured at a small clump of trees, and walked towards them, obviously expecting her to follow. Fortunately she did.

She had to admit that the scenery was beautiful as she perched on one end of her standing suitcase, him on the other end; slightly turned away from her in polite detachment. "The erm… the mountains over there, on the other side of the river... what are they called?" she asked, trying to find a safe topic of conversation to start with.

"The Monroe Hills," he supplied, gazing in that direction. "The people around here wouldn't class them as mountains. Anyway, they border the whole coast up to the Atlantic. Further up northeast is the village of Gallimouth, and the other way upriver is Gallicester. You've probably noticed a pattern, so I decided to follow suit and named my plot of land Gallifrey."

That had some logic to it, so she nodded. "Is there a Gallibank and a Galliton?"

"No," he laughed with merriment. "But there is a Galliville."

She laughed with him at the thought. "There was a serious lack of imagination when they settled here, wasn't there."

"It would seem so," he agreed, nodding. "It's very different from London."

"Very," she croaked, and suddenly felt a lump in her throat. Why was she unexpectedly compelled to shed some tears at the thought? Homesickness was a thing she thought she had got over long ago. "But then I never got to see much of London, seeing as I was inside most of the time."

"Oh?" He turned his head to look at her, allowing himself to finally do so properly. "Did you not like the sights?"

"Never really had the chance to find out," she confessed. "My days have long been filled with household work. Cleaning, scrubbing, washing; that sort of thing. I was lucky if I got to see my bed at a decent time, especially when I went to work at Windham Place."

"So you were in service?" he asked.

"From the age of twelve; worked my way up from general dogsbody in the scullery to personal maid, at the very end," she stated. "I was expecting to be doing that to the end of my days, but my employer upped and suddenly died on me when I went with her to stay at her sister's; just outside Southampton."

John sat up straighter. "Why didn't you go back to London?"

"Money," she quietly admitted. "Her youngest son came down to see to his mother's things at our lodgings. We never got to her sister's you see. Anyway, he turns up, gives me the whole 'thank you but no thank you' speech, and I'm out on my ear without a job. When I told him I had nowhere to go, he told me a friend of his would be able to fix it for me to have something. A couple of days later I was on my way to you."

He shuffled uncomfortably on his perch. "What about your parents? Did they not object?"

"Nah!" she sighed. "They were over the moon. Me; married and off their hands, with money in their pockets, was the ideal situation, seeing as I'm no spring chicken and it looked as though I'd never meet a man who would ever want me as a wife. I received a letter from my mum saying how pleased she was. My dad is dying, you see, so they need the money desperately. If I went back to them I'd be just another financial burden, and would be sent out to work in the nearest factory, no doubt." Wanting to escape this focus on her, she attempted to slightly change the subject. "What about you? How come you're without a wife?"

His expression saddened as his eyes gained a faraway look. "She died, along with our children. The only blessing is that it was quick, but..."

His grief was still obvious, so Donna didn't push her questions any further. It would be cruel to do so. "The bloke in the mailroom said they call you 'the Doctor' around here, but you pull out teeth. That's a bit unusual, ain't it?"

"It is," he confirmed, grateful for the conversation change. "I was a medic in the army for a while. Thanks to Napoleon I saw a bit of action, so I'm not exactly ignorant, but I'm not a proper doctor. Didn't quite finish the training."

"Still a useful man to know though," she comforted him. "Loads more than someone who knows how to get silver looking its best."

"But you can read and write," he complimented her in kind, warming to her even further. "That is a very useful skill to be able to offer. Not many can."

Donna had to acknowledge the truth of that. In some ways she was a very lucky person. It was rare for someone like her to be able to read, and she'd been blessed that her mother had been schooled by her grandfather, who in turn schooled her.

"Perhaps you could stay with me in the cabin until you can find another position," John brightly suggested. "There must be work for someone as experienced as you."

"This home of yours," she began to cautiously question him, "how many bedrooms does it have?"

"It has the one room," he answered honestly. "Don't need more than that."

"How many beds does it have?" she continued her line of enquiry. "And is there a chaperone?"

"Just the one bed, and only I live there. Nobody else is close for miles," he supplied. "Oh," he murmured in realisation and blushed once more.

"Oh indeed," she responded, now that her point was proven. "My reputation would be shattered whatever you do."

"Nobody need know," he tried to reason, hoping against hope, for her sake.

If only such an idea were possible. "Don't talk wet! People know I'm here. It'll ruin both our reputations if they see you're living with a woman that isn't your wife. Well, unless by some miracle I can get away with dressing as a man; and I doubt that could happen." How could he even contemplate them living together unmarried as they were? The man was a fool. It was as if he was on a mission to humiliate her. And he might not be the only one. "The clerk in the mailroom, would he keep this to himself?" she asked in kind.

"Not a chance," John conceded after giving it some thought. "I assume he sent you to me?"

"Yeah," she softly answered now feeling even more doomed.

They sat together for some minutes staring silently out across the water at nothing in particular. Both hunched over as they contemplated Donna's dilemma. Without money or close living relatives there were only two options available for her and neither of them involved her freedom.

It was John who broke the companionable silence between them. "There's only one option I can justify," he announced as though more people were assembled there. As she held her breath, waiting to find out his decision, he stopped drumming his fingertips against the suitcase beneath him and turned to face her properly, giving her his full attention. "We'll have to get married, so what do you say, Miss Donna Noble? Shall we give it a go?"

Honestly, what could she say to that offer? It wasn't exactly what dreams are made of, but beggars can't be choosers.

~o0o~

The pastor coughed and then stated, "I now declare you man and wife."

John Smith smiled encouragingly at his new wife, doing his best to control her trembling hands held within his own. Truth be told, he was just as nervous after all their efforts to get this to happen.

It had taken a fair bit of persuasion to get the Reverend L. Bennett to carry out the ceremony immediately; but once he realised that Donna would be going to John's home straight away, he had quickly relented and performed the marriage once a couple of witnesses had been rounded up. Luckily the men had been conveniently standing in their path as they went to arrange the wedding. They were two of Galliport's finest drinkers, in fact, by the name of Bill Winston and Tom Greenhorn.

Who would have thought this morning when John had seen that ginger woman on the ferry as it docked that this day would end with them being married, and to each other? Life was bizarre at times. Other times it was crazy. To try and calm her, and himself, he whispered, "Hello Mrs Smith."

"Hello Mr Smith, Dr Smith, whoever you are. I'm Mrs Smith," she echoed as though in a daze. "I'm married; I'm actually married."

"Yes you are," he confirmed as if she needed to hear the words. Blimey! This was momentous and he considered pinching himself to see if it was true.

"Go, my children," Rev Bennett encouraged them to leave, almost shooing them. "May you find happiness together," he tacked on to soften his words.

As one, they turned, arm in arm, to leave the small empty chapel devoid of anyone else, and their two witnesses grinned at them through unkempt beards. No doubt they expected to help celebrate the marriage too and would use their friendship with John to their best advantage.

"And now for the wedding night," Bill, the first witness remarked, grinning lecherously at them. "I hope you have a big enough bed, Doc."

"The erm…. The w….. wedding night," John stammered, fingered his collar, and shared with Donna a petrified look. How on earth were they going to cope with that?

Fortunately the decision was taken out of their hands. "A drink!" Tom, the other witness declared with glee. "We need to celebrate with a glass of something. What say you, Bill?"

"I agree, Tom." The other man nodded his agreement with abandon. "Doc, lead the way."

"But I…," John faltered, not wanting to squander his meagre earnings on something as frivolous as alcohol.

But the two witnesses were not going to be easily warded off from their goal. "Every wedding needs a toast," Bill declared. "And Tom is buying."

"My wife…," John tried again to halt their progress away, but the two men had a strong hold of his arms, and they practically frogmarched him towards the tavern; leaving poor Donna standing alone in their wake.

Sighing deeply, she sat herself down on her suitcase outside the tavern doors and prepared to wait. What else was there to do? With no money, she was powerless to even find a drop of water to drink.

~o0o~

"Are you okay, my dear?" a woman sauntered passed and asked her some minutes later. "This isn't a good spot to stay in."

"I'm waiting for my husband. He's inside," Donna reluctantly admitted with a bob of her head towards the tavern. "There's nothing else I can do until he comes out. You see, I don't even know where we live yet."

Intrigued, the woman stepped nearer and gave a friendly smile. "That is very unfortunate. How come you don't know where you live? Did he blindfold and abduct you?" she joked.

"Oh no," Donna quickly defended her new husband. "I arrived this morning on the ferry and we married this afternoon."

The woman's lips pursed in thought. This was highly unusual but not impossible. "Who did you marry?"

"Mr John Smith," Donna supplied. "I believe he is known locally as 'the Doctor'."

"Oh yes," the woman gasped out in recognition. "But Doc doesn't usually drink in this establishment. I would know because my husband owns it."

"It would seem that today is a special day for him," Donna remarked, "and your husband shall profit from it."

"He will indeed, Mrs Smith," the woman agreed, taking in the sight of this stranger in more detail. There was an air of gentility that seemed out of place in such a location. "What profit will you gain from it?"

"A home and I avoid the disgrace of being a woman alone," Donna answered honestly. "I'm now the property of Dr John Smith. Beyond that I do not know yet. But I hope I have gained a friend. I'm Mrs Donna Smith," she warmly introduced herself, offering a hand to shake.

The woman took her hand and shook it with gusto. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Mrs Hannah Johnson. We don't get many like you around here so I hope I don't appear rude."

"Not at all, Mrs Johnson," Donna replied. "It's all…" She cast her gaze about the small town. "…rather unusual, but I'm sure I'll adjust in next to no time."

"Call me Hannah," she insisted. "Around here us women have to stick together. Let me show you in out of the harsh sunlight and you can rest for a while."

"You are most kind." Donna gratefully followed her new friend in through a side door, glad to be able to gain some further knowledge about this new environment. "I might need your assistance in sending a message to Mr Jack Harkness."

~o0o~

"There you are, my darling!" John exclaimed when he staggered out of the tavern about two hours after he first entered through the doors. "You waited for me. Ain't that nice?"

"Absolutely charming," Donna sarcastically retorted. "Can we go now please?"

He wavered on the spot, obviously enjoying looking down at her as she sat on her suitcase again. "You're all little sitting there. Like a ginger fairy on her wee toadstool."

That got her up and on her feet in less than two seconds. "And you are a great big stinking tramp…," she began to berate him, but his hands suddenly landed on her waist without invitation.

The next thing he knew, he was dumped on his rump upon the dirt, holding his nose in agony. "What did you do that for?!" he loudly questioned.

"Touch me again and it won't be only your nose that I punch," she threatened him, pointing towards exactly where her next intended target would be.

"Is he hurting you?" one of the tavern revellers drunkenly asked Donna as he emerged from the tavern. "I'll get some others to kill him."

Instantly Donna stepped in his way to stop him returning into the bar. "Oh no you won't. Not if you know what's good for you. Leave my husband alone," she threatened in icy tones, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt. "Or you'll have to go through me first. Got it, buster?!"

Shocked, the man quickly shook his head. "I will leave you and your husband alone."

"Good! So hop to it," she spat at him, and threw him away from her as far as she could. Neither watching nor caring where the drunk went once she'd released him, she then looked down at her husband still sat on the ground, but now gazing up at her in awe and adoration. "What you looking at? Get up!"

"Yes, dear," he hastily gulped, and got to his feet.

Unfortunately the drunk hadn't gone far, and sauntered back to comment, "I like her fire, Doc. She'd soon chase away the cold nights much better in my bed." He then swung far too close to Donna and made a grab for her arm. "Once I've given you a good beating, so come on home with me, darling."

Before he was even conscious of the thought forming in his head, John lashed out and knocked the drunk instantly out using a well-aimed punch full in the face. He panted with anger as he stood over the prone body. "Don't you EVER touch my wife again!" he hissed.

A small audience of men from inside the tavern, who had seen the whole thing, gave him a round of applause.

Donna stared at her now sober husband, astounded at his protective streak. This needed her to show that he had earned a reward, so she smoothed her fingers down his forearm and lightly touched his hand. "Why don't you take me home?" she quietly suggested.

"I suppose so," he answered, and took off at a fast trot, making it hard for her to follow.

"How wizard," she muttered to herself as she struggled to carry her suitcase and bag to keep up with him.

In her eyes he had lost every single brownie point he'd just earned; and officially was declared dead in her mind. She wanted to wipe that innocent expression clean off his face.

~o0o~


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

.

The journey towards his home started off in frosty silence, with him warily eyeing her as he rowed his boat and she sat directly in front of him, viewing the foreign landscape with fixed attention. Every now and then he sniffed experimentally, to see if his nose was now unblocked and if the pain had gone away yet. That was some right hook she had on her. He was impressed, despite his best efforts. It had sobered him up immediately.

His friends in the bar had laughed at him for taking such a mature wife, even more so when she blooded his nose; but he didn't need a pretty young thing to provide him with children. He'd already been through all that. Instead, he wanted some company and this feisty woman looked as though she would be capable of entertaining him in lots of domestic ways. There was a quality about her that reminded him of his childhood home, and he liked the comfort that brought him. Perhaps it had been stupid to marry in haste like they had, but he couldn't let her be thrown onto the street as a destitute woman. She was meant for more than that; he didn't know why he thought in such a way.

As he moved to and fro, moving the oars smoothly within the secure confines of the rollocks on his boat, only her profile was offered for him to view. It was quite a strong, haughty look until she forgot he was looking at her, and then it softened into a faraway, almost ethereal countenance. When she realised he was staring at her, a delicate blush swept over her skin; making him smile. He also liked how those escaping wisps of hair that had annoyed her so much earlier in the day, danced around the edges of her bonnet.

"Telling yourself a joke over there?" she wondered, bringing with it another embarrassed flush.

"No," he smirked. "Merely enjoying the thought of a cup of tea and some female company for a change."

"You'd better get used to it," she remarked; and turned her head to fully regard him. "That's the only thing you can expect to get used to. I don't want any nonsense happening."

"What sort of nonsense are you talking about?" he inevitably asked with a frown.

"Nothing," she tried to brush off the question by saying, and returned to watching the passing scenery.

"It isn't 'nothing' if you are frightened of it happening," he gently attempted to counter.

Why couldn't he let it be? "Mr Smith, after you left me behind it's clear you don't fancy me and I certainly don't fancy you, so let's keep it that way," she suggested.

"Why don't you? What's wrong with me?" he queried, halting his rowing momentarily to look down at himself.

"Do we have to go through this now?" she huffed. "Alright then." Her judgemental, beady gaze suddenly bored into him, dredging up guilt. "You look and smell like a tramp. Goodness knows when your face last saw a flannel let alone soap, your hair needs a decent haircut, your face is hidden under years of straggly growth, and I dread to think what the state of your underwear is. No doubt your socks would gallop to the wash basket given half a chance, and you have clearly forgotten how to look after yourself as you mope about."

He had to concede that much of what she had said was true; but it still hurt to hear it. "I've not… I've had no need to do anything else," he confessed.

"I guessed as much," she admitted, trying her best to sound friendly. "But that ain't the case anymore. This is a new start, for both of us. Looking after you shouldn't be any harder than seeing after old Mrs Cunningham; and I had to dress her, so I won't have that problem."

This was confusing. "Who's Mrs Cunningham?"

"That's who I used to work for in Windham Place," Donna supplied. "I'd known her since I was twelve and went into service. She was a visitor at the first place I started and asked me later to join her. Worked my way up to personal maid and companion."

His lips moved silently for a few seconds. "How long were you with her?"

"Twelve years before she died." There was an almost inaudible sob. "We hadn't been in Hampshire two days when she took ill, leaving me on my own. Heart attack, they said. Then the letter arrived from my family saying they'd corresponded with the Harkness Agency, Mrs Cunningham's son…" She shuddered as if to cast off the thought of him. "…told me that he would not be assisting my passage back to London, and I had to make a decision what to do next. So I came here."

There was probably a lot more to this story, but John resolved to ask at a later date. "I'm not so bad in comparison then," he immodestly observed, with an encouraging smile.

She laughed heartily in response. "I'd agree with you but I don't want to inflate your ego. Plus we have that whole suitcase and getting plastered business to hold against you."

"Again?! I'm sorry that I forgot about your cases. They forced me to drink with them," he firmly stated for the third time that evening. "I didn't pay for a thing, and I would never have gone with them given the choice."

"Shame they forgot that a wedding tends to have a bride as well as a groom," she commented. "They didn't even have the decency to offer me a drink when they toasted you."

"That was very wrong," he agreed. "How about I make it up to you by taking you out to dinner the next time we go into town?"

"Well…." She decided she'd allow that treat.

"And when we get home tonight I'll do us something to eat, have ourselves a romantic walk in the moonlight, and then a cuddle up in bed. How does that sound?" he eagerly asked.

"The first bit sounds okay," she accepted, "but as for the bed part, I erm…"

He reached over to gently squeeze her hand in understanding. "We'll worry about that part when we get to it, eh? There's only the one bed so we'll be sharing whatever happens. I don't know about you, Mrs Smith, but I'm so tired I will want to fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow."

She smiled her thanks, hoping he could still see her clearly in the dimming light of dusk. "More than likely, yes."

~o0o~

They landed at Gallifrey with the sun only just above the horizon. It seemed to be all woods, grassy clearings, and rivulets; as far as Donna could tell. Nevertheless, it was all pretty, apart from his cabin. It sat like a squat cabbage within the landscape. If it had been an English country cottage it would have been beautiful, with a thatched roof, stone clad walls, and a garden full of wild flowers. His cabin had none of those qualities. It did, however, have some sort of a veranda that went from the front to the back, a stone chimney, an outhouse, a large workshop shed, a nearby stream for clean water, a few visible chickens and an area that could easily be turned into a garden. Her ambition was to grow a vegetable garden, so it would be an ideal start. All of it looked practical, if a little neglected, and she knew she could make something of it, once a decision on exactly what could be done was made.

John steered the boat up to the end of a short jetty that led to a pathway up to the cabin. He expertly jumped out of the boat to tie it to the post at the end of the jetty, but stopped when he noticed Donna still sat hesitantly on the bench. "Do you need help out?"

"No," she promptly denied. "I can do this myself."

"Are you sure?" he wondered as her foot paused above the end plank.

"Yes," she stubbornly insisted; but her foot had gone numb and still hadn't come back to life, causing her to plummet sideways.

"Careful!"

Having anticipated this, John reached out to grab her to safety, clasping her around the waist; and they both ended up prone together on the riverbank, him on his back in a low bush and her near straddling him.

Fortunately they were winded yet unhurt, but she gasped as she tried to sit up. This was everything she had dreaded happening in a nutshell.

"Get off me!" she shouted.

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest that the situation was quite the opposite, with her on top of him; but he manfully held it in and let her clamber off his body. He could recognise embarrassment when he saw it, even without the deep flush on her skin, and he wanted her to keep her dignity. It also meant something else, but he was ignoring that for the time being.

Instead, he pretended the slip hadn't happened, and sped to lead the way to the cabin and his home. It didn't take much effort to get the main door open.

"Welcome to Gallifrey," John proudly stated. "It isn't much but it's all mine." When she went to step inside, he quickly burst out, "Oh! I'm supposed to carry you over the threshold."

"You don't have to," she asserted as he bent to pick her up. "You really don't have to."

"Ah, but I insist. It's tradition," he declared, holding her within his arms. "There you go." He quickly placed her down again, onto the floor.

"How long have you been living here?" Donna asked as she looked around the small space and involuntarily wrinkled up her nose in disgust.

"Oh erm…" He gave his left ear a thoughtful rub. "Four maybe five years."

The scarcity of the interior both shocked and pleased her. There wasn't much, furniture wise, but at least it wouldn't take too long to get the condition of the place back to a reasonable state. At least it had a means to heat water and cook a basic meal, thanks to small wood burning cast iron stove. Using a gloved digit, she experimentally trailed a finger along the surface of his chest of drawers. The result made her want to grab up a scrubbing brush and begin cleaning straight away.

"Is it alright?" he asked with deep concern, vulnerability etched across his face. "You can live here quite happily, can't you?"

"I'm sure I can," she brightly confirmed. If anyone could adapt to new surroundings, it was her, she confidently thought. "So…" She cast her eyes around the cabin. "Is there anything else you have that I should know about?"

John brightened and began the guided tour of his home and the amenities it provided. Donna was soon introduced to the table, the bed, the windows, the outhouse, his workshop, and the buckets. It was all what she was used to but scaled down a great deal. That's what she told herself, anyway. So much to do it was daunting, but she had faith that it was possible in a reasonably short time.

That brought her attention back to her new husband. Husband. That would take some time getting used to too. He looked like Grizzly Adams' younger brother, but she had plans for him as well. And judging by the glances he occasionally stole in her direction, he had plans of his very own, of the wedding night variety.

To fend off those thoughts for the time being, she walked over to the bed, cautiously sat down, and gave the mattress an experimental bounce. It didn't do much bouncing back. Oh dear. But at least nothing bit her.

"What's for dinner?" she asked when John re-entered the cabin from collecting his things from the boat, hastily getting up again and heading for one of the fireside chairs.

He set down a box next to her suitcase. "Ah," he enigmatically replied. "It's a surprise."

"Of the 'if I've got it, we might have it' variety, I presume," she guessed correctly.

"No," he lied unconvincingly.

She smirked, enjoying the joke at his expense. "Did you know that you do that thing when you lie?"

"I do?" he wondered. "I mean… I don't lie." How did she do that, know that he was lying through his teeth? It was as if she had known him for years rather than mere hours. Curiosity got the better of him, and he had to know what his 'tell' was. "What is it that I do?"

Oh, she was loving this! "It's your mouth," she said, pointing at it. "When you lie your lips move."

What? Then the joke sunk in, and he realised she was teasing him again. This was new compared to previous relationships, and he found that he was enjoying it, very much. "Just be thankful they're not lying on you… I mean, not yours, …no no no. I mean not lying to you."

"D'you know what," she remarked as he stammered on, "you're a great big up the creek dumbo."

"What does that even mean?" A puzzled expression clouded his eyes.

"And to think you claim to know all about creeks," she teased.

A slow shake of his head as he grinned broadly showed that she had hit her mark, but his mind was working nineteen to the dozen to come up with an appropriate retort. Alas, it came to a grinding halt before it had a chance to.

"So about this dinner you promised me, Mr Smith," she began to ask him, deliberately changing the subject and sending his mind off onto a different tangent, "any chance of it actually happening? We have some tea to celebrate with."

Surging forward to grab the necessary items, he readily confirmed, "Yes dear" and then immediately wanted to kick himself for having uttered it.

He would later blame thoughts of anticipating that cup of tea.

~o0o~

It was bedtime, and Donna had done everything she could think of to delay it a little bit longer. Insisting on heating fresh water to clean their plates had been first, followed by using the outhouse, washing her hands and face, and then finally needing some private space to get into her nightdress had all taken a fair amount of time. Now this was it. The big moment. The one she had been dreading for weeks, months, if not years: sharing a bed with a man; a real man, who also happened to be her legal husband.

Taking in a deep breath, she called out, "You can come in now!"

My, didn't those words sounds like a death knell to her ears.

There was a scurry of feet upon the wooden planks of the front porch, and then the door flew open, leaving John to stand hesitantly within the frame. "Ready?" He then continued to stand there like a lost little boy, fidgeting with his sleeves and adjusting the fall of his jacket.

"More or less," she admitted, smoothly down the bedsheet and blanket that covered her within the bed; and then instantly regretted the action. What the heck had been on it? Quietly she resolved to have all the bedding off and washed as soon as she could heat enough water to fill the large barrel that currently sat outside the back door.

Watching her carefully, John yet again was struck by how little he had to offer this woman who had made his cabin her home. What must she think of him and his belongings? She could have had her pick of any husband but she had ended up, by some miracle, with him. Now he knew he had the gift of the gab, and that the things that spouted from his mouth weren't unintelligent musings, but he also knew that he wasn't everyone's cup of tea and that most of the local folk thought he was decidedly weird. It was for this reason that he kept himself to himself; but a wife would need society and other people for company. Women tended to want all of that.

Moving further into his home, he found that he couldn't keep his eyes off Donna. Her ginger hair had been released from its usual tight confines, and now hung loose and in long waves around her shoulders, framing her face beautifully. The soft glow of her freckled skin in the light from the sole lamp made him ache to reach out and touch her to see if she were real or merely an illusion. And he knew that such illusions existed because he had once attended a show performed by a magician who had apparently made a young boy appear out of thin air. Much like these unwanted thoughts, he considered, as his libido reminded him it was his wedding night.

Uh oh! His heartrate suddenly went up a notch or two; and it wasn't the only thing that rose up.

~o0o~


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** this is the part that begins to raise the rating of this little story from K+ to the eventual M. Just thought I'd better warn you...

* * *

 **Part 4**

.

Wedding night; this was _their_ wedding night.

He could do this. In fact John was sure he could now that the moment had arrived. It had been a while since he had slept with a woman, in any sense of the phrase, and he desperately tried to shove aside the reason why it had been so long and who he had previously lain with; but the thoughts of his late wife refused to drift away.

As his face paled, Donna asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm always alright," he automatically replied.

"Then I presume that's not very alright at all," she remarked. Pulling back the blanket on his side of the bed, she patted the bottom sheet in invitation, demonstrating a bravado she didn't completely feel. "Up you pop and get yourself some sleep. It's been a long eventful day. Everything else can wait."

"Thanks." A smile of immense gratitude broke out across his face. This was exactly what he needed to hear; no pressure, no ghosts to haunt his actions, no desecration of a long held memory. Thus rallied, he threw off his outer clothing, stripping to his long johns with no consideration for her sensibilities until she gasped at his actions, he quickly clambered into the bed beside her and settled down for the night. "I'm dog tired," he sleepily stated. "Goodnight," he added, and then reached out to turn out the light from the flickering oil lamp beside the bed.

They were plunged into darkness.

From where they lay, Donna could see out of the window to the night sky. As her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, every possibly visible star could be seen, twinkling down at them. Wouldn't it be lovely to have one of those fancy telescopes, in order to see the sky more clearly, she considered. Did her new husband like looking at the stars? She turned to study him and was relieved to see that he had already drifted off into peaceful sleep, his mouth slightly open to let a gentle snore or two out.

Content that she had gained a reprieve from an inescapable nightmare, she pummelled a lump out of her pillow, and allowed herself to fall asleep to thoughts of travelling amongst those stars in the sky above.

~o0o~

At first she thought it was the early light of dawn that woken her up. Without curtains of any sort, or the need for them, all this natural light would take some getting used to. Lifting a hand to idly wipe any sleep out of her eyes, her fingers hit bone and flesh. Keen to see what the heck this was, and if it was a danger, she raised her head, and found herself looking straight into the eyes of her husband, sitting propped up above her.

"Are you… are you actually watching me sleep?" she wondered.

He nodded. "I am. Is that a little bit creepy?" he apologetically asked. "It isn't meant to be. I woke up and there you are."

"What a surprise," she sarcastically agreed.

It gained a grimace in kind. But he couldn't hold it for long because in his bed lay what looked like a ginger angel gazing up at him in, well… it wasn't quite 'adoration'. 'Friendly cynicism' at best, but it would do for now. "As I was saying, I woke up and saw you there next to me."

"And?" she queried, expecting more.

"My beautiful new wife," he whispered, bringing his head lower, until their noses were only millimetres apart. "Perhaps we could erm…"

At this point, he pressed closer, briefly touching her lips with his own.

"Perhaps," she reluctantly agreed, steeling herself for what may come next.

Except, what actually did happen next was way beyond what she was capable of accepting. His mouth was suddenly on hers, moving without mercy, as his body shifted to lie on top of her. It took all her strength to hit him in the kidneys and get him to release the hold he had on her body.

"What? What's the problem?" he demanded to know.

"You, you big lummox!" she cried, wiping at her mouth to get rid of the taste of him. "What was that all about? It bloody hurt! If that is your idea of seduction you need to seriously read a different manual, Sunshine."

"I WAS seducing you!" he insisted, incensed she was questioning him.

"Oh yeah? You might as well hit me over the head and drag me off by my hair, because only that would have been less romantic."

"Oh." Now he felt like a complete idiot; and this situation was a might too familiar. "I'm sorry… so sorry. How erm… how should I have coaxed you?"

"I don't know, do I?" she faltered. "I've never done this before with someone I could even half consider, let alone someone I've married. I might have fought off a few unwelcomed advances, but nothing beyond that."

"You've never…?" Oh! Of course she wouldn't have experienced physical love. What had he been thinking? Well, he knew what he had thinking, or rather, what part of his anatomy he'd been thinking with. But Donna wasn't only noble by name; there was a quality about her that both demanded and needed reverence. "I rushed you and I'm sorry for that. In future I'll be more careful, take things slowly, so that you can adjust and learn to be with me," he vowed. "Can you possibly forgive me?"

Why not? He was giving her sufficient space, and lots more time to avoid the inevitable. There wasn't much more she could have gained on her wedding night. "Yes," she readily confirmed, and allowed him to briefly hug her.

Its brevity was duly noted. That would have been that, except it obviously wasn't the case for John, because moments later he fidgeted about, huffed, threw the blankets aside, stormed out of the bed, across the wooden flooring and through the front door; making sure to shut it firmly behind him.

She instantly sat up, frowning at his retreating figure. What had she done wrong now? He'd been okay with her explanation, she'd offered him a crumb of affection, and it had seemed as though the matter had been dealt with for the time being. Yet it clearly wasn't an ideal arrangement.

Cautiously, Donna got out of the bed, donned her shawl and crept over to open the door to see where he had gone. If he needed some more confirmation that she still liked his friendship despite the whole sexual avoidance thing, then she was very willing to provide it.

He was leaning heavily against one of the porch balustrades. As the door squeaked open and the tread of her footsteps could be heard on the wooden floorboards, John leapt back in fright and held a protective hand over his lower torso.

"What are you doing?" she asked before she could stop herself.

From the flurry of movement that had greeted her curiosity, it was easy to for her to guess what he had been doing, judging by what she had accidentally caught visiting young gentlemen doing in the past. But at least John wasn't being as blatant about it.

"Nothing. Well… nothing much. You know," he stammered in embarrassment as even the tips of his ears went pink. "I was just…"

He waited for her to make an accusation or ask him a probing question; but she did neither. Instead, she stood there silently waiting for him to own up to the truth.

"I'm sorry. I have these needs; I woke up with them. My wife was disgusted by it all but I can't stop it happening. And I have tried," he confessed. "So when we… I erm… just now, I had to get rid of it in order to think." He gulped in a guilty breath. "Sorry."

Taking in his demeanour, there were a few things Donna knew she had to deal with, and his waking need for sex was the last item on the list. If he wasn't careful he'd tie himself up in knots with the way he was trying to escape this situation.

"First of all, I'm your wife now. I'll admit I find it scary, but not disgusting. You are not disgusting," she emphasised, taking a step closer. "Far from it. Well, not as far as this is concerned," she added lightly, trying to get a smile out of him, because she had already complained about the filthy state of his clothing; among other things. "You have already shown yourself to be the best friend I have ever had; I couldn't ask more of you, I really couldn't."

His eyes brightened, and he felt able to look her straight in the face. "You still think well of me? But you caught me in the act of self-abuse." A slow relieved smile began to grace his face again. "I cannot control this impulse and you managed to say something nice about me. I don't know how you can."

"Oh, that one is easy," she confidently assured him. "And you obviously don't know or have forgotten how horrible other men can be."

That comment made him think along a different track. "Is that the reason for your fear? Have you been mistreated?" he asked, now worried about her previous experiences.

"Yes," she answered honestly. He'd worked it out, and she would have to confess all now. There seemed to be no other way forward for them. "When I was seventeen, the young master of the house tried to force himself onto me. He suddenly grabbed me and pushed me onto a table top. I never encouraged him to touch me; I swear on a stack of bibles that I didn't. But he obviously thought I was up for grabs; so I slapped and then punched him until he let me go. He got a broken nose and I got my marching orders. It was all hushed up, which I had to accept otherwise I wouldn't have got another position elsewhere, but I was determined it wouldn't happen again. By the time I went to Windham Place I made sure that I wouldn't have to put up with any of that attention and Mrs Cunningham told me her son was a confirmed bachelor so there'd be no trouble from him. Which there wasn't. Shame about his so-called friends," she said with a shrug of her shoulders, "but you can't have everything."

In light of this news, he had to know what she had suffered. "What did they try to do to you?"

"Grope me, and no doubt more, but I inflicted pain on them before they could get ideas or the chance to take things further," she proudly stated.

He nodded his acknowledgement. This certainly explained and was backed up by her actions towards him when he had touched her. "I am so sorry that you have had to endure all that at the hands of unthinking men. Myself included," he added, and waved off her protest that he was different. "We've started off well by forming a friendship, and I think we can build on that to become more, as long as we are careful to go slowly. What do you think?"

Oh you wonderful man, she wanted to exclaim. "Slow and careful is exactly what I want," she agreed. Overcome by his generosity and understanding, she added, "I really don't deserve you."

"No, it is I that don't deserve you," he complimented her in kind.

What could she do except hug him after he had said that? This time the hug lasted much longer than their brief one, and they both drew a great deal of comfort from it. They had gained a satisfactory level of acceptance and knew it could only get better between the two of them. A bright and loving future beckoned.

~o0o~

With a brand new understanding between them, they sat amicably eating breakfast together. It was time for Donna to find out the details of his life.

"Most of my income comes from carving wood or creating intricate and unusual time pieces," John supplied, "I have a few animals around but I've also done some trapping, and since I bought this land, I get some rent money from a couple of tenants too. It doesn't add up to a great deal of money, but it keeps me occupied and provides plenty of variety in my life. This Sunday I will take you into the village to go to church and meet the people there."

It all sounded promising rather than daunting, which had been her main worry. But there was something within his words that bothered her. "I know you are a trapper some of the time but what exactly did you do?"

"I trapped various animals and sold the skins and fur. Animals like mink, beaver and deer. Sometimes salmon, but most of the fish I keep for myself; like our dinner last night. I usually use the animals as models to sketch when the mood takes my fancy, before they are killed."

"You kill animals?!" she cried in horror. "But that's horrible."

"It's the same as getting leather from cows," he argued.

"Yeah but we eat cows. They don't go to waste," she countered.

"Then it's a good job that I eat the animals I catch," he retorted.

"It's still icky," she commented with a pout. "I'm sorry; I'm just a townie where killing animals comes into it."

"If you're hungry you'd eat anything."

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm about to find that out?" she asked no one in particular. "We don't have to rely on meat. I brought some vegetable seeds," she enthused more loudly. "We could easily create a vegetable garden."

"I'm not sure," he waivered. "I wouldn't know how."

"Then it's a good job you've got me," she continued, "because I used to help Gramps tend to his vegetable plot, right up until I had to leave home."

It wasn't in his nature to quash her dreams. "In that case, we'll give it a go."

What he hadn't expected to happen was her launching herself at him, and hugging him tight. "Thank you! I could bloody love you… for this."

Oops! This was a bit embarrassing. It wasn't an ideal situation finding yourself wrapped around a relatively strange man almost declaring your love for him, even if he was your husband.

Needing to find a sudden distraction, she dusted off his shoulders and wondered, "These animals of yours, do they need looking after? As in, as soon as possible."

If he hadn't been so distracted by her throwing herself on him, he would not have answered, "They do. I should do that right away. There aren't normally many, but they're scattered so it might mean I won't be back until tomorrow night at the very latest. " Mainly because the next thing he knew, he was being shoved out of the door and on his merry way. "See you later," he feebly murmured when he had his hat pushed into his hand and was given a wave goodbye.

He trudged off wondering how he had gone from having a fiery woman on him to facing a possible night alone, camping in the woods.

~o0o~

It was a warm sunny day as John finished his tour of Gallifrey, having checked his animals, and then spied his home sitting in a clearing within the woods. There wasn't any sight finer than that. Except this time he was returning to the company of a new wife and all the possible delights that promised. He could feel his excited hopes rising with every step closer that he took.

With a wipe of his brow and a smile on his face, he entered his cabin, expecting it to look almost exactly the same after his trip. It was not. Not in the slightest. As soon as he walked in through the door it was more than apparent that every surface had been scrubbed to within an inch of its life. New linens adorned every possible surface, and the fresh smell of something simmering on the stove filled the air. The whole place practically sparkled in comparison to how it usually looked.

Out to the side of the cabin hung a neat row of newly washed items, including the bed sheets. Other things on the washing line he pretended he didn't recognise. It was all terribly impressive. She must have worked her fingers to the bone.

As John stood in the open doorway, he let out a low whistle of admiration. "You've achieved a great deal," he announced.

"Don't just stand there like that," a voice ordered him. "Move! Get your clothes off!"

"What?" he floundered as a marauding Donna bore down upon him. "I've only just walked in through the door. What have I done wrong now?"

"Them," she supplied, pointing at his clothes with barely concealed disgust. "They're the problem. You and they are filthy. I have a hot tub ready and waiting for you out back, so get everything off and use it."

"But… but… I'd be naked," he stammered in shock.

"And we're married now, Mr Smith, so get used to it," she retorted, acting braver than she felt. In truth, his potential nakedness terrified her but her ire had been roiled by his filthy habits. "I'm not having you traipse in here shedding dirt on my nice clean floor. Have you any idea how long it took me to get it this way? No, you are taking all that off and washing every bit of that filthy body of yours. Do you hear me?!"

"Yes dear," he answered before he could stop himself.

~o0o~


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

.

Oh dear Lord, please help me, Donna silently prayed as she stood within the sanctity of the doorframe, trying desperately to catch her breath. What had come over her? The day had started promisingly enough with the prospect of taking her new husband in hand and forcing him to clean up his act; quite literally, as it happened. At that very moment he was sitting in a makeshift bath and it wasn't even his birthday, Christmas, Easter or May Day. It was pretty close to his wedding day and the third day of their marriage, so at least he was celebrating their honeymoon; if you could get away with calling it that.

The reason she was sending up fervent prayers to the Almighty was because of her unexpected reaction to her naked husband. Through a crack in the door, she had been able to observe him stripping down to his long johns and beyond; revealing his well-toned behind as he bent to remove his clothing, muscular upper arms, and a tastefully hairy chest, among other things…

I mean, you expect to be curious and take a gander. That's natural. What you don't expect to find is a handsome man hidden underneath a load of grime, with a smattering of freckles across his features, and warm brown eyes that sparkle at you with fond mischief as you wash his hair. And you certainly don't anticipate suddenly wanting to snog his full bottom lip as he grins with delight that you've found a reason to pour more warm water all over his torso.

How was she supposed to cope with all that?

Hence her currently hiding behind the cabin wall, hoping against hope that this attack of desire would go away; any second now would be helpful.

Taking in a steadying breath, she sneaked a peek out at him, to test her resolve.

Yes, she could do this, she decided. After all, she wasn't some animal on heat; she was a modern woman. A woman who suddenly fancied her husband. With a bit of luck it would work in her favour. On that thought, she stepped out the back door and greeted her wet husband.

~o0o~

This was rather nice, John decided, as he swooshed his hands and arms about in the cooling water of the barrel he sat in. He may have had to squat with his knees almost up around his ears as Donna pottered about, armed with a jug of warm water, but that didn't bother him. He was in a good mood. It amused him that she avoided damage by spillage on herself by wearing not much more than a pinafore over her under-things, and by going barefoot on the veranda.

It was made all the nicer by having his wife take great care to scrub his back, neck, arms and face. Lower down bits he could do himself, she had insisted. But she had also taken charge of washing his hair; going so far as to trim off most of his beard too, leaving him almost squeaky clean. His next allotted task was to find a razor to shave with and shears to shorten his hair.

"It has to be done in order for us to go to church together on Sunday," she had justified. "Cleanliness is next to godliness."

Judging by her eagerness to handle his body, he strongly suspected different motives altogether, but he was feeling amiable enough to keep his mouth shut. For the time being, at least. He cast a mischievous glance in her direction as she bent over him to rinse the suds out of his hair and over the edge of the barrel he sat in, brought his fingers up to the surface of the water, and flicked a few droplets onto her chest.

"I think you could do with a little wash yourself, Mrs Smith," he smirked when she shrieked in complaint at being suddenly wet. Noticing the immediate transparency of her bodice, he was tempted to flick even more water onto her bosom. "Oh dear, you'll have to take that off now."

"Mr Smith! What are you playing at?" she demanded to know. Fortunately she had already placed her jug down onto the planks below them; otherwise it would have dropped and probably smashed in her rush to be indignant.

She instantly grabbed the jug up to hug to her chest, using it as a barrier between herself and his ideas.

"If nakedness is not only allowed but expected with our marriage, then it is only fair that you follow suit," he reasoned; quite logically it would seem, to both their ears. "Oh go on," he tried to entice her nearer, "I'll let you pour water all over me again."

"You… are impossible," she bumbled as a crimson flush spread upwards from her neck.

"Well…" A huge grin broke out across his face, and he reached out to catch hold of her hands. "If I'm impossible that makes you Mrs Impossible."

Donna couldn't hold in her mirth at his ludicrousness, and laughed uproariously as he pulled her gently closer. "You will not get me naked before you," she insisted, "and certainly not out here in the open for all to see."

"Ah yes, all those prying eyes of animals in the forest that care very little for our behaviour. You have no need to worry, love. But you did not say you would not come into the water," he noted smugly.

"I never said anything of the sort," she protested.

To her sheer horror, he suddenly stood up. The fact that her gaze was drawn to a certain part of him that quietly fascinated her, despite holding up her hands to hide the sight from view, was not to be spoken of. Nevertheless, she expected him to step out of the barrel when he did so.

Instead, he did quite the opposite; grabbing her around the waist, and taking her with him back down into the water, with her not quite straddling his lap but perched on his thighs.

"And yet here you are," he triumphantly proclaimed as she spluttered a token protest.

So she smacked his shoulder. Hard.

"You've got me all wet now by pressing me up against your body," she grumbled, fighting to stay mad and losing fast.

He had the audacity to grin. "I have."

It was a good job she had already removed her boots before dealing with him otherwise they would have been a nightmare to get quickly dry and useable. The rest of her garments were next in line to be washed anyway; so that worked in this idiot of a husband's favour. It was also a good job that he amused her so much because anyone else would have been flattened by now with a hefty thump.

"I bet you think this is clever."

"I do," he nodded without a shred of regret. And then he made the mistake of looking down, seeing the glorious orbs of her breasts near his chin, pressed as they were, high against his chest. He gulped and returned to looking up at her. "Do you er… think it would be forward of me if… if… I erm…"

"What are you asking me, cabin boy?" she asked, feeling a shift in more than just his mood. "How forward do you want to be?"

His intense gaze melted any hesitation within her. "Would you let… can I kiss you?" he huskily requested.

"I'm not sure…," she instantly began to distance herself.

"Please," he quietly begged; his eyes going huge to aid his plea.

She was powerless to resist, and she wanted to taste this new ardour of his, to feel what it was like to be desired; even if it was for a fleeting moment.

Not trusting her voice to give her answer any strength, she nodded as she answered, "Okay."

He tilted his head upwards to brush his lips against her mouth. They met halfway in a tender surge of lips that was part experiment, part floundering affection.

Obviously, judging by his cautiousness, he was still expecting to be thumped, so she kissed him slightly more firmly to grant permission.

His next, longer kiss was pleasant, but the hand that then came up and cupped her breast was a shock; causing her to jerk. She would have jumped away but his hand continued to caress a path until his thumb swirled over the cloth of the clinging bodice, creating a warm, tingling sensation in its wake.

Slow, they had agreed. They would take this new relationship slowly, at her pace; allowing her to find a decent mental foothold on proceedings. But his gentle touches were driving her onwards, making her wild and wanton, as his mouth moved upon her lips, coaxing arousal to flare between them.

When she felt his hands on her skirts, pushing them out of the way, she thought he was merely adjusting their position; but then his hands landed on her bottom, pulling her down onto him, and a hard length of something could be felt between her thighs.

Of course, her mind reminded her, as she tried to work out what it could be. It had been impossible not to notice his appendage when she had assisted his wash; but it had been flaccid then. Now it was sturdy and insistent, prodding at her intimately through her bloomers.

They may have made an agreement but that part of him evidently hadn't signed on the dotted line. No, that wouldn't do.

Her hands were instantly on his chest to push herself clear off his thighs. "I can't," she broke away from him to voice her fears. "I've tried, honest I have, but I can't do this."

His eyes opened wide as he fought to find the right words. "What? But I… we… I thought you were enjoying it," he almost wailed.

To be honest, he would have cried, given half a chance and a few decades knocked off his age. But real men don't cry. Not manly men; especially manly men with accompanying hairy hands like he did. In his shock, he hadn't yet realised she had climbed completely off his lap and was making a hasty retreat into the inside of the cabin.

"It's all too much," she sobbed, glancing apologetically back at him as she fled through the door.

When the cabin door slammed shut, he stood up and nimbly stepped out of the barrel. He swore as the cold air hit his naked body and then marched into his home. "Donna," he began to call out to her. To his mortification, she was lying face down on the bed in tears. "It's alright, Donna," he crooned as he edged closer, crouching beside the bed. "I'm sorry I upset you. We can work this out between us. It need not cause a problem."

"You must hate me," she sniffed from somewhere next to the mattress.

"What? No, of course I don't hate you. I'm not even angry." He quickly amended this when she lifted her head to glare disbelievingly at him. "Well, not with you I'm not. My angry lies with myself."

"Why?" she asked, sitting up to regard him. "Do you realise your mistake and want to send me away?"

"What!" Seriously, he told himself; he had to school himself to use a different reaction. "Why would I want to do that?" he demanded to know as he sat on the edge of the mattress and took hold of her hands. "Oops! Sorry about wetting the bed, if you see what I mean," he apologised as he tried to stop dripping rivulets all over the blankets. "Anyway… I am annoyed with myself because I am unthinking and selfish."

"You're not," she insisted with a shake of her head. "And I've caused you to freeze your bum off."

As her face dropped with dismay, he partially lifted himself off the bed to joke, "No you haven't. Look, it's still there."

Seeing his bottom had been the very thing that had started all this nonsense in the first place, she reminded herself. "And it is freezing cold," she stated through a sniff.

"I can cope," he cheerily vowed. But he welcomed the warm towel she got up and hastily wrapped around him; enjoying the implied embrace. "See. With you around, I can cope with anything."

Her countenance lifted a little. "You're just being kind."

"No, you are the one being kind. I'm the one sitting here like an idiot."

"Do idiots have a special way of sitting?" she pondered from beside him.

"Apparently so," he proclaimed, wrapping his arms around her waist to offer comfort. "This particular idiot needs to keep you safe and well. You're all wet and cold too. This won't do."

"I'm a bit cold," she reluctantly agreed as he tucked her head beneath his chin, crushing her against his chest while he tenderly stroked his hand down her hair. When he pressed a kiss on to her temple, she wanted to clasp him tight and never let go. "Sorry," she whimpered.

"Sh, shh, shhh," he hushed her worries. "This is my fault."

Her head momentarily lifted from his chest to ask, "How so?"

"Well, when you said in the boat that I don't fancy you," he began his confession, "that wasn't true. I've been thinking about you ever since we first met, and I have wanted to make love to you."

"Oh." What else could she have said? Not a lot. Apart from the truth about fancying him in return, of course, but there was no way on God's green earth that she would have done so in that moment.

"Yes," he sighed, "I'm afraid so. I should have known better. When my wife was alive…"

"Late, first wife," Donna interrupted to correct him.

He smiled at the possessiveness that implied. "Late wife was alive," he continued, "things were not as ideal as they should have been."

Her mind whirled with theories. "Was there violence?"

"No, not quite, but there was hatred in the frostiness she showed towards me," he supplied.

"Towards you?" she echoed in disbelief. "But you are so gentle."

"I wasn't always," he bitterly maintained. "We were young and in love when we married. In hindsight I should have known that she was not as ready for a sexual relationship as I was, in certain moments, when I 'took my rights' as she called it. Oh I was not ignorant of her constant ploys to avoid intimacy with me, but I was not aware of the anger and hatred she felt about my desire until the day our second child was born. In a blinding rage, she spat at me that I would never touch her in that way again, and if I did, she would murder me in my sleep."

"Oh John," Donna gasped in sympathy. "What did you do then?"

"What else could I do? I kept well away from her as much as I could," he admitted, "even though it broke my heart to know that I had wounded our relationship so."

She reached up to tenderly caress his cheek in sympathy. "How soon afterwards did you lose her?"

"Weeks. Not quite three months afterwards they succumbed to a terrible sickness," he sobbed, drawing in a ragged breath. "I don't want to do that to you. What if my actions cause you to hate me like that too?"

In a blink of an eye, she had her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, offering as much comfort as she could muster as his tears fell; soaking the top part of her attire that had managed to stay dry.

"We won't let that happen," she promised in a whisper. "This is a new start, for both of us. Together we can overcome these obstacles in our way."

He nodded his agreement, adding in a small sniff.

"I have a clean nightshirt ready for you," she proposed, "so let's get our night attire on, have some supper, and then a cuddle in bed. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful," he disclosed. "Thank you, Donna."

"Now that IS a bit forward of you," she joked, "Mr Smith."

"So you think I didn't notice the 'John' that slipped through your lips?" he teased in return. "What must you think I am, Mrs Smith?"

Mine, she wanted to reply; but instead she smiled whimsically and busied herself with getting changed out of her wet clothing with her back turned modestly to him.

~o0o~


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

.

John gulped, desperately trying to control his breathing as he sat on the bed, suddenly extremely conscious of his state of dress; or rather, lack of. The reason for his demise was the sight of his current wife's bare back, half hidden by a swathe of long glorious ginger tresses. A sight that practically begged for him to reach to move her hair out of the way and caress her soft exposed skin. His fingers itched to touch her in trails of desire; and other things demanded to happen too.

Should he succumb and reach out?

After several moments of internal self-examination, he decided it was best if he did not. His needs were merely temporary; whereas hers could be permanent if he behaved inappropriately.

Deliberately coughing first, he murmured, "I'm ready."

"Oh?" Donna gasped, and cautiously looked over her still bare shoulder at him; seemingly surprised to see that he was sitting behind her there in his nightshirt. "I…" A deep crimson blush spread over her skin. "I won't be a moment, Mr Smith."

Ah, that formality again. He was aware that the title was being used as a barrier between them, to keep him away from acting on any possible thoughts. Why did he have to battle with this urge? Given the choice, he would not need to do what he was about to do; but alas it was a necessity, and their marriage depended upon him repressing his ardour for her.

Standing up, he declared, "Nor will I, Mrs Smith."

With that, he walked as calmly as he could; out of the room to the outside the cabin to brave the heat of the early evening air. He could cope with this, he told himself. Their relationship was worth this sacrifice of his own personal dignity. If he could only school himself appropriately, there need not be any unwanted, unnecessary consequences. Not this evening, and hopefully never.

There was a puzzled expression on Donna's face as she watched him walk away from her as though he was a condemned man. Presumably he was going to use the outhouse before their evening meal. It worried her that he seemed so… well..., 'resigned' was the word she came up with. Had she upset him somehow by accidentally and unthinkingly exposing her body? Not that he had seen much beyond her back. Although she didn't understand how undressing like she had could have caused offence. Unless, of course, he found her repulsive despite his earlier attentions.

It was most peculiar, she considered. And a little unsettling. Why was he behaving so dejectedly?

When he returned some minutes later with an unmistakably guilty expression on his face, she could easily take an educated guess as to why it had appeared there. Once he had averted his gaze, having glanced at her briefly and quickly washed his hands using the washstand jug and bowl, she grew certain that she knew what he had been doing outside; and her pity for him rose up. Poor man having to deal with her inability to be a 'true woman'. Her mother would have a field day with this; criticising the life out of her if she knew how badly this marriage was progressing. John must have the patience of a saint to put up with her.

"Come, sit yourself down. I will place your clothes in the tub to wash after we have eaten," Donna offered. "Shall we eat now?"

"There is no haste to clean my clothing," he kindly assured her. "You've had an exhausting day. Let me assist with the meal."

Relieved that he still considered her a friend, she accepted his help, and readily set about preparing their repast.

~o0o~

The mood lightened considerably as they ate. Their meagre evening meal had taken on the atmosphere of a special picnic. Well, it wasn't so daft for them to feel that way, considering the pair of them were sitting in their nightshirts and not much else at the small dining table, perched as they were on small wooden stools John had created. Somehow doing something so different had made it fun to share bread and cheese; as though they were partaking of a midnight feast up in the servants' quarters, or were young children again enjoying the feasts of harvest.

Now bolstered by the lingering memory of their earlier kiss in the barrel, both felt comfortable enough to hold hands when the mood took them, using the act of offering comfort to hide their true intentions as they began to share tiny secrets about their past and aired the worse of their experiences. It added much warmth to the evening.

It also added frivolity as they then quickly progressed to playing harmless silly pranks on each other, pulled faces to amuse one another, or challenged each other to whimsical dares; causing a great deal of laughter to ring out into the dell. The dares included doing such things as speaking in a squeaky voice or attempt yodelling brought out their tales of less than daring do from the past.

"I don't believe you once hopped all the way around the outside of this cabin," professed Donna on a breathy laugh. "Prove it."

"I certainly will," John retorted, immediately standing up on one foot. "Watch this."

He began to hop towards the door and out through it. He hadn't gone more than a metre along the veranda when there was a loud crack, an accompanying loud shriek of anguish, and his foot disappeared down through the wooden board.

"John!" Donna cried out in alarm, racing to his side. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, more than fine," he assured her as he assessed the damage. Fortunately, his foot had stayed on the broken wood that bent down towards the soil beneath the cabin. "No harm done. See!" He held up his bare foot for her to examine. "Just a bit of a shock for me; and I'll fix that hole tomorrow."

"You idiot!" she chastised him, giving his arm a swipe. "You're not supposed to try and widow me before I've even had the marriage."

This was good news to his ears. "So you fancy having me and this marriage properly, do you?" he teased, hobbling slightly to return to her side. "Anyone would think you liked me."

"Get over yourself," she grouched, wanting to wipe the smirk off his face. "What makes you think that?"

"Erm…" Giving his ear a playful tug as he considered the question, his mischievous grin was in full force now. "Maybe the fact that you were determined to marry me within minutes of knowing me."

The truth of this only added to her embarrassment. "That's not so, Mr Smith," she hotly denied.

"Oh, on the contrary, I would say it is, Mrs Smith," he retorted, loving this game. "We should also not forget the incident when you threw yourself on me as you climbed out of my boat."

"I fell," she defended herself. "It was late, I was tired, and the boat momentarily swung away from your jetty."

"If you say so," he responded, knowing full well that the act had been accidental, even if he had enjoyed the result of them gaining full bodily contact. "One could possibly argue it was true."

"Just… get back inside," she blustered, "before you can cause yourself or the cabin some more damage."

The prospect of possibly causing some damage to his bed suddenly flitted through his mind. "Perhaps we ought to retire for the night," he suggested in a low voice, unaware he was panting slightly.

"If it stops you disappearing through the floor, then perhaps we should," she agreed, captivated by the darkening expression in his eyes. You could drown in those pools of chocolate brown and never want to get out, she considered. "Do you think you can manage to get there safely?"

Wrapping his arm around her waist in order to guide her steps, he replied, "Let's find out, together."

What could she do but return his cheeky smile? "Just don't expect this every night."

When he responded, "My expectations are exactly what you are prepared to give," she felt her insides melt with anticipation.

It was a good job they would soon be tucked up in bed together.

~o0o~

It was inevitable in such a small confined space that he would end up next to her body, but when she turned on her side and let him snuggle in, he was in heaven. They lay spooned in the bed, him with his arms possessively around her body and his chin nestled against her neck from behind. He was fast beginning to enjoy this new intimacy. Every now and then, since he had woken from his deep slumbers, he had tenderly stroked his fingertips across her flesh; glorifying in her warmth.

Startled a little at first, she had relaxed and then easily allowed it to happen. That is, she had, until his hands wandered nearer to her breasts, tantalising her with his touch. Her thoughts and emotions went soaring in several directions at once. Should she stop him, or should she wait and see what he did? It was all very confusing. And also very arousing.

She wasn't swatting his hands away, he noted, so perhaps she wanted him to delve further. Deciding to take the risk, he trailed his touch upwards to cup each of her breasts and ran his thumbs lightly over them, like he had on the day of his bath. It gained a shiver from her body in response as well as hardening buds of flesh under his thumbs and index fingers as her breathing altered.

Adding in delicate kisses onto her neck, he continued to smooth his fingertips over her breasts, taking care to caress the most sensitive parts. Her little groans of delight told him that his attention was not unwelcome, so he flicked open the buttons on the placket of her nightdress and delved in to continue his skin-to-skin teasing. She wriggled against his thighs, as though trying to gain some leverage.

Could this be it? Did she finally want him? He would not do anything further until she permitted it, despite his body's raging need to take full possession. Her head turned towards him, so he moved them both bodily so that he could kiss her on the mouth.

His lips were reverent at first, pressing softly and moving slowly. But he then parted his lips to kiss her more, so her taste could be sought with his tongue.

The kiss deepened further when he gently entered her mouth to smooth his tongue against hers, drinking in her very essence, in a dance of passion that craved intimacy but didn't steal it. Instead, she willingly gave him her promise of more; so heady was the effect of his lips upon her flesh. But all too soon it was over and they broke apart to gaze into each other's eyes, in wonder and longing admiration.

"More?" he huskily asked.

"More," she gasped as his fingers continued to daintily pinch and send darts of desire through her body.

However, she was surprised when he pulled away from her body and tugged off his nightshirt before returning to their kiss. The image of his naked form was clear in her mind as her hands explored his bare back. His hands were now up and beneath her nightdress, kneading her breasts and encouraging her desire. But something wasn't quite right.

"My nightdress is strangling me," she commented when the material bunched up beneath her chin. "What the…?!" she cried when he didn't adjust the fall of her gown but pulled it up over her head instead.

He tossed the garment onto the closest chair and then returned his attention onto her. "It's okay. Is that better?" he softly crooned to waylay her fears. "I won't enter you, I promise I won't. I just wanted to feel your skin."

She would have complained, but she believed him implicitly, and secretly rather liked him feeling her skin too. The touch of male hairy legs was rather unusual and probably an acquired taste, she noted, but the rest of him was warm and welcoming. Especially his lips. They mesmerised her, and she would have done anything to keep them pressed against her own, encouraging her desire to climb into the rafters.

And then something prodded her hard in the thigh, and she let out a shriek of horror. "No! No don't," she begged. "Please don't."

Feeling her tense with fear within his arms almost broke his heart. "I won't, Donna," he readily vowed, "not until you want me to."

His words made her want to sob with gratitude. "But I might never want to," she reasoned. "What will you do?" she asked as her voice broke on a sob.

"Then I shall have to make do with that," he proclaimed, giving her temple a kiss. "Anything than have you hate me for hurting you."

She caressed his cheek with the palm of her hand. "I can't imagine hating you. Thank you."

He could tell that she would descend into tears if he didn't distract her; and their intimate moment had been well and truly broken. They might as well get on with their day.

"Come on, we have to be up nice and early if we're to get to church on time," he stated, giving her arm a fond pat as he did so. Then his mood subtly changed. "Unless you fancy staying here…?" he queried, raising both his left eyebrow and his pitch to try and tempt her.

Alas, for him, it didn't work.

"Of course we are going to church," she proclaimed. "If we don't then the local people will assume we have been delayed because…" She didn't have enough voice to finish her sentence, but her fierce blush spoke volumes about her embarrassment.

"Because we are newly married," he offered. "On our honeymoon," he stressed; keen to both enjoy the thought and to tease her about her reaction to the idea of their honeymoon.

He had hoped they had successfully covered this matter the previous day. Evidently not, by all appearances.

"Yes… well…," she stammered, ducking her head away so that she couldn't see him. "I don't feel…" Her words halted again.

"What don't you feel?" he immediately asked as he took her hand to catch her attention. When she didn't reply, he encouraged her by saying, "Tell me what worries you still. Please."

That was when she regained the strength to look him directly in the eye. "I don't feel married; and I know I should but… If I were a real wife then perhaps it would be different."

Despite himself, he let out a sigh of exasperation. "We have a certificate that clearly states we are married, in the sight of God and the law. Unless you have any regrets about the matter, we will remain married until the day God forces us to part on this earth." Bringing up his hand, he smoothed his fingertips across her cheek and added in a caress to her earlobe. "Mrs Smith, I'm afraid you are very married to me. As your husband, I insist that you try to remember that you are real and a wife."

Her eyes continued to beg him to reassure her. "But we have not consummated our relationship," she quietly stated.

"We've got close enough for it to count," he reasoned. "There is not a time limit so we can take as long as we like to work our way towards that. Now, do not worry, my love," he near whispered and placed a brief kiss upon her lips.

"Am I being foolish?" she wondered.

"A little bit," he acknowledged. "Perhaps we can blame it on you swooning for me?"

"In your dreams, mate!" she chastised him, glad to be back on an even keel. At least she felt comforted enough to move away from him.

"I fear it is your dreams being affected by your growing affections for me," he teased.

She laughed. "Keep telling yourself that," she sarcastically advised him; and set about getting ready for the day in a much brighter mood.

~o0o~


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning:** contains mentions of blood.

* * *

 **Part 7**

.

The journey to church seemed long and laborious as John rowed them ever closer.

"Wouldn't it be easier to get a horse," Donna suggested.

"What would I do with a horse the rest of the time I'm not travelling? It isn't cost effective to have one," he pointed out.

"I suppose so," she reluctantly agreed. "This church you go to, is it very big?" she wondered.

"Here's your chance to find out," he announced. "We've arrived."

It didn't look like they had arrived anywhere so she quickly took in their surroundings filled with trees and a lawn type area that lead down to the river bank; but just around a bend in the river sat the local church for Little Galliford. Saint Martin's. In today's terms it would be described as the size of a scouts' hut. It was certainly much smaller than any church Donna was used to attending.

The first pang of something hit her as John assisted her climb out of his boat. "Is there any way they will know about me?" she wondered.

"Not to my knowledge," he admitted. "You will be a very pleasant surprise." With that, he planted a kiss on her cheek.

She smiled at his proud daftness. "I will be a huge surprise there for sure but what about the rest of our situation, Mr Smith?"

"Let's find out, Mrs Smith," he brightly offered, holding out his arm in invitation for her to take it. He beamed with delight when she wrapped her arm around his, and gave her had a consoling pat. "They will soon appreciate your society as much as I do."

She merely grimaced briefly in answer because some of the town folk were fast approaching. A rather formal looking middle-aged couple known as the Caldecotts eyed the pair of them cautiously.

"Good morning to you both; sir, madam," John sung out in merry greeting.

The Caldecotts gawped at him; evidently rather surprised to find out who this 'stranger' was.

"Is that you, Doc? May the Lord strike me down you have changed!" Mr Caldecott blurted out before he remembered his manners. "Good morning to you and your fair companion."

It was obviously a hint to make introductions. "May I introduce you to my wife. Mrs Smith, this is Mr and Mrs Caldecott."

"How do you do"s were pleasantly exchanged.

Mrs Caldecott stared at Donna in open interest. "When did you acquire a new wife, Doctor?"

"Last time I travelled to Galliport," John answered. "Fortunately I met her just as she alighted from the ferry."

"Doc, did I hear you say you had acquired a wife?" another man walked up to ask; luckily cutting short any further questions from the Caldecotts.

"Indeed I did," John readily replied. "Mr Ferguson, may I present Mrs Smith."

More pleasantries were exchanged; but Donna could feel lots of inquisitive eyes on her as a large family of simple means arrived at the church doors. Another couple eventually appeared, but the rest of the congregation of about thirty people was made up of single men. All of the people who hadn't been introduced to her stared at the Smiths, obviously wondering who this new couple could be.

Of course, she reasoned to herself, they would not recognise John in his clean clothes and freshly shaven face. They were used to the filthy mess she had first encountered. In light of that, she tried to smile pleasantly in understanding at them.

Even the rector seemed to not recognise John, and spoke about welcoming newcomers into the fold. His sermon changed direction once he had asked John his name; after voicing the genuine shock of the congregation about the visible change in John's appearance. What then appeared in the sermon mortified Donna as Rev McGregor went on and on about issue from a marriage, how it was the duty of a wife to provide offspring in the marital bed; blah blah blah. It was like a knife twisting in her heart. But more was to come.

Apart from the large family, who Donna quickly learned were called the Wilsons, the only other two ladies, Mrs Caldecott and Mrs Brown, quickly came together and descended upon Donna as she stood slightly away from John as he spoke to some of the men outside the church.

"Good day," Donna greeted them.

"Good day. My, you are a sneaky one, Mrs Smith," Mrs Brown commented.

"Sneaky?" Donna queried.

"By marrying our community's most eligible bachelor," Mrs Caldecott informed her. "Mrs Wilson was hoping her eldest daughter would be chosen."

Appalled, Donna said, "But the girl does not appear to be even fourteen years of age yet."

"Old enough to be betrothed," Mrs Brown pointed out. "How did you come to be acquainted with the Doc?"

"Through a friend in London," Donna cautiously replied. "He wrote a letter of introduction, I met Mr Smith and the next thing we knew, we were married. It seemed to take no time at all."

"How unusual," Mrs Caldecott remarked.

"I just knew he was the man for me," Donna continued. Surely they wouldn't push for more information. If they did, she would politely decline to answer and sidestep them by being vague. After all, it was none of their business how the marriage had come about. Marriages of convenience could be found all over the world. Her circumstances were merely a little unusual, she told herself; steeling for a defensive attack.

"We thought the Doctor was still in mourning for his dear departed late wife," Mrs Brown declared; concern of some sort or another dripping from her words. "It was a huge burden for the poor man losing a beautiful wife such as she."

"So I hear," Donna acknowledged. "But it did not take long for him to sweep me off my feet. Is that not so, Mr Smith?" she asked him as he suddenly appeared by her side.

Thankfully he backed up her declaration, and brought her hand up to his mouth to kiss in a most gentlemanly fashion.

"It did not take me any time at all before I knew you had to become my wife," he agreed in silky tones aimed towards the two ladies. "One of my better decisions. Come and meet some friends of mine, Mrs Smith." He looked squarely at the two women. "Ladies," he acknowledged them with a bob of his head, and a tip of his hat, before he then led Donna away.

As they turned, Mrs Brown could quite clearly be heard to whisper to Mrs Caldecott, "He should have chosen a much younger woman for a wife. One that could cater more for his needs. The likelihood of him replacing his lost children is extremely small. I doubt she could conceive even one child, considering her advanced age, let alone be able to work sufficiently well on his smallholding."

Donna stiffened and went to move in order to berate them; but John hastily shook his head and whispered into her ear, "They are jealous so let them stew."

Stew?! They needed hanging then boiled slowly in their own juices, Donna decided. How dare they upset him with their cruel words. He'd been in such a good mood up until then. She wanted to rip their smug grins right off their lilywhite faces.

Seeing her nostrils flare, he quietly begged, "Please leave it be. They are not worth our attention."

"But they have dismissed your feelings, Mr Smith, in an abominable way," she hissed.

"Next time we meet them I promise you can speak your mind, but not today. You are above them in every way possible."

"Very well," she reluctantly agreed. "Next time they try this they will feel more than the force of my tongue."

Her threatening possessiveness gladdened his heart and he couldn't resist pressing a kiss briefly to her temple.

~o0o~

Coming home from church in their small vessel almost half an hour or so later, Donna suddenly cringed. John immediately stopped rowing to ask, "What is the matter? Are you in pain?"

"Just a twinge," she replied, trying to dismiss the sensation that was ripping through her insides. "I'll be fine in a moment."

Unfortunately, her words coincided with another grimace as the pain briefly soared.

"You are not fine," he insisted, "so do not try to trick me."

She gave him a watery smile. "Honestly, it is nothing."

Evidently he did not believe her for a second, and kept a careful eye on her for the last part of their journey. It was not far from home, otherwise he would not have let the matter drop so readily. Once there, he would insist on examining her, wishes or no wishes. Her health and wellbeing were paramount to him, after all.

Under her steadfast glare, he changed the topic of conversation to their morning in church. Within seconds they were giggling together at the pomposity of the leading ladies of the community.

~o0o~

"John, wake up," she hissed at him.

"What?" He half rolled away, and then came back immediately again.

So she prodded him in the shoulder. "I said wake up," she repeated "You have to get up now."

"What! Why?" he mumbled. "I'm comfy."

"You soon won't be," she quietly voiced.

There was something in her tone that caught his attention, so he forced his eyes to widen and regard her. "What has happened?"

"Oh, nothing much," she reluctantly answered, "but I need to change the bedding."

"It is a little late to worry about… OH!" he murmured as realisation hit.

The reason for her mortification was clearly evident on the bottom sheet. A large stain was developing.

"I need to get it in soak before it is completely ruined."

"I'll help you," he offered. "There's no need to be so embarrassed. Not with me, "he insisted when she continued to look mortified. "And I've seen a lot more blood than this in a bed."

"Not from me you haven't," she blustered. Then much more quietly she commented, "You're not supposed to see this."

"This sign of life is much more welcome than the sight of a man mortally wounded," he reasoned. "I helped my wife give birth to two lovely daughters. This does not compare."

"You had daughters," she echoed in awe; saddened by the thought of his loss. "That's the first time you've done more than vaguely refer to them. I don't even know their names." Seeing his face fall, she quickly assured him, "You don't have to say anything further. It is your loss to keep close to your heart."

"Hannah and Charlotte," he spat out before grief could stop him from doing so.

It was the same expression that had appeared on his face when Mrs Brown at the church had stated, "Now that you have gained a new wife you can have some more children to replace the ones you lost."

At the time, Donna had been dumbfounded that someone could think they would be comforting words. It also meant that there were some graves nearby that she ought to visit and pay her respects to at the first opportunity.

"Where are they buried?" she heard herself ask.

"I will show you next time we go to church," he promised. "But we will worry about that another day. You need to get some rest."

With his help, a fresh new bedsheet was soon in place and they could clamber back beneath the blankets to gain some sleep.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated as they laid down. "I did not want to wake you."

"Hush. Think nothing of it," he assured her with a tender caress. "It was not deliberate on your part. Now, I'm going to turn onto my side and you are to cuddle into my bottom. The heat from my body will help ease your pain."

Snuggling into his back, it was soon evident that he was correct. "Thank you," she murmured, and gave his nape a loving kiss in gratitude.

For once he revelled in her wrapped around his body; and they soon fell into an easy slumber.

~o0o~

Being on her period somehow made things a lot easier between them for more than a few days. It gave her a first class excuse to avoid any intimacy and he had acknowledged the unspoken request without argument. But the respite couldn't last forever, and she was well aware of that fact.

It was as she began to prepare for bed that her previous struggles resurfaced. Donna lifted her head from her task, aware of eyes upon her as she worked. He was watching her again; he was always watching her from afar. Not like some predator though. No, she'd had them in the past, lying in wait around corners, doors, or any other handy feature. John was more patient than that; infinitely patient, like a cross between God and Death. He was waiting for her to make her decision. And he knew she eventually would.

Did he know that she was aware of him whispering sweet nothings into her ear as they lay spooned together in the bed? He spoke of love, of wanting her, of needing her in his life. Sometimes he promised to show his love in any way she desired, using his mouth, his body, his fingers and tongue. That had slightly bothered her. Okay, it had bothered her quite a lot. Because she had no idea what he was offering; and was too afraid to ask him how someone would do that during their waking moments. So she had feigned sleep and ignorance of his murmurings. It was safer that way.

His tiny attentions had grown since they had attended church together for the first time since being married, and not waned as she had expected. He was forever finding small ways to add in a tender touch or caress now upon her exposed flesh. Her skin yearned for those touches; anticipated them when he was near. On the day of church, he had insisted on holding onto her arm possessively whilst introducing her to the smattering of townsfolk who attended, and her senses had wanted to sing with delight. Here with him she felt a belonging that had long eluded her. If she didn't know any better, she would had have thought she was falling in love with him; but that sort of thing didn't happen. Not to her it didn't. But this friendship they had developed between them was nice. It was warm and comfy. In many ways it was the perfect relationship she yearned for. Except for one small thing…

With great care, she lifted up the water jug and poured some warmed water into a bowl. As Donna began to wash her face and body she could feel those soft brown eyes of his paying her careful attention. "What are you doing, cabin boy? Are you watching me?" she queried.

What was the point of even trying to hide the fact? He had been caught gazing at her gradually exposed skin as she moved aside her garments to wash her bare body. He readily confessed, "Yes."

A faint blush spread up her skin. "Why?" she asked and then flinched when he took in a gasp of breath.

"Why, you ask," he began his reply, taking care to keep his tone soft, "when I wonder if you could truly understand how beautiful you look in the glow of the candlelight." When she went to protest, he shushed her by saying, "You are breath-taking, and that makes me want to worship every inch of skin you reveal."

"You're just saying that because you're feeling horny again," she blustered.

"And whose fault is that?" he pretended to gripe, moving closer until he could look her directly in the eye. Reaching out to sweep a strand of her hair out of the way and over her shoulder, he sincerely told her, "You could not be lovelier. The only way this could be improved upon is if you let me kiss you."

"You daft prawn," she chastised him, loving his tender words. But she still tipped forward and brushed her lips against his. "I'll soon be finished here, and then you can carry out your evening ablutions."

"That's a good idea," he hoarsely replied. "But not as good as this…"

With slow but steady movements, he encased her within his arms, brought his head down and lovingly kissed her with growing passion. Oooh, it was a thrilling kiss. It moved her to lift her arms and embrace him in return, her arms around his shoulders and her mouth meshed with his in loving sweeps. The taste of him made her head spin and her breath to flutter in her throat.

When his tongue touched hers, she clung to him in need, letting their tongues glide together in an erotic dance that stunned her senses. More. She wanted more. More of him.

But she also wanted air; so they broke apart, and lightly panted.

"That was some kiss, Mr Smith," she gasped. "I'd better finish with the bowl and let you use it."

His dark intense eyes blinked as though in a trance. "In a moment. While you finish, I will be getting some fresh air," he mumbled. "Out on the erm…"

He didn't complete his sentence but guiltily headed for the door; giving her one last glance before stepping outside.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** John finally gets what he wants, in a way. Personally, I blame the tea.

* * *

 **Part 8**

.

Watching John slink out of the door made Donna feel her own level of guilt. Oh, as usual, she could guess where he had gone and exactly why. It was her fault, for kissing him so passionately. Unforgivably, she had caused him some physical pain that he now had to deal with before he could return to the room and retire for the night. He was merely a warm-blooded man after all, and her mother had often stressed that men could make themselves very ill by not acting upon their natural sexual urges in one form or another. It was a wife's duty to facilitate this. How she hated this fact in that instance. It was yet something else to use to point the finger at her as an unfit wife.

That wasn't the only problem she faced. From experience, she knew that he would not be able to rest properly until he had been relieved from his urges; and that fact made her feel even more guilty. Would she ever be free from this eternal guilt?

Somehow she doubted it; but a spark of something else began to rise up within her soul. 'Stubbornness' her mother had often called it, a blight upon her character; but Donna had never seen it as being so. It came with fire and determination, and often rescued her from maudlin thoughts and self-recrimination.

This wasn't how she normally dealt with problems in life. By Jove she didn't! What had come over her lately? Had moving to the New World taken away her normal spirit? She hardly recognised herself as this frightened married being. This could not and would not continue. Remembering some particular spoken words, she determined this situation was ridiculous. In order to rectify the matter, she had to …well… take things in hand, for want of a better phrase.

Squaring her shoulders, she smoothed down her nightdress, adjusting its fall over her breasts, before she strode purposefully over to the cabin door. Once there, she paused for a second to take in a deep breath for courage, and then turned the latch, thus swinging the door wide open. It squeaked accusingly at her, as though protesting at its harsh treatment; and her eyes readily sought out her husband to see if he had noticed.

Mere feet away, he obviously had. His head had instantly turned, locking their mortified gazes. The frantic movement beneath his shirt tails had immediately ceased, and a deep crimson blush spread over his cheeks and edged its way up to the tips of his ears.

"D-D-Donna! What…?! You should not be out here," he spluttered, his eyes wide in terror. "You have caught me at a great disadvantage."

"Ah, the thing is, I think I should be here," she began to explain; taking courage from his anxious state.

He felt the heat in his face leave lower parts of him stone cold. "No no no no. This is wrong for you to see me in the act of self-abuse. It is most unseemly. I forbid it. Go back inside."

"I beg to differ, and think it is about time I witnessed what happens," she informed him. "No, hear me out, please," she continued when he went to argue the contrary. "In the sermon on Sunday, Rev McGregor spoke of wifely duties."

"We have already discussed this. He meant no harm," John quickly defended the pastor. "He was merely trying to welcome you into the community, in his own mistaken way."

"Be that as it may, it got me thinking." Donna stood hesitantly before him, averting her gaze for more than the obvious reason. "I have failed in my wifely duties so far."

He shook his head in denial. "You have not."

"I have," she softly insisted, and stepped closer to lay a gentle hand upon his arm and look up into those doe eyes of his. "There are many things I should know as a wife, yet remain ignorant about. Tell me, dear Husband, how does this whole self-abuse business work? I've never done this before but I should be helping you. Where do I start?" she beseeched him.

Husband? Stunned, he gulped before answering. "You'd have to… to touch me," he quietly informed her. "You know…. My erm… my… thingie."

"Surely you don't call it that," she queried, distracted by her own awkwardness.

"It is not something I care to talk about with a woman, Wife," he admitted, his cheeks pinking up to display his embarrassment. "Not normally outside polite company. My mother called it my 'willie' but I do not know what term you would use," he excused himself. "What name would you wish me to use?"

"I cannot say that I have ever given it any thought," she replied. "Your little man," she rapidly continued, contradicting her previous words.

Resisting the urge to laugh, he nodded sagely. "'Little man' it is then."

"So…. We've got labels. What do we do now?" she gently wondered, trying to quash her rising fears.

Seeing through her bravado, he maintained, "We do not have to do anything that is not to your liking. I'm sorry, Mrs Smith. I know you are trying to do your duty but there is no need."

Her reaction completely surprised him.

"There is, Mr Smith," she sustained, and cautiously placed a hand directly over his, where it had remained protectively over his shirt tails. In that brief moment, her fingertips glanced his sensitive, aroused flesh. At the sound of his sharp indrawn breath, she commented, "It's warm."

"It's supposed to be," he gasped, biting his bottom lip in order to hold in the yelp of abandon he wanted to release. "Oh my sweet Lord," he groaned seconds later, clenching his eyes tight shut when he felt her fumble a much yearned for caress.

It was obvious to him he would have to take charge and lead the way in this matter. Having removed her hand from its temporary position, he cast aside the confines of his nightshirt, he slowly brought the hand to rest on his lower torso. "As I said, now you touch me," he huskily answered.

Oh my gawd! Why she hadn't quite expected to see him in all his glory she couldn't quite say, but fortunately satisfying her curiosity was uppermost in her mind.

"Like this?" she cautiously asked, gingerly moving her fingertips against him as though she were patting a dog. "Am I doing it right?"

In answer, he guided her hand to wrap her fingers around, to hold him within her palm. Her touch was so warm and welcoming that his breathing took a moment to adjust. "Try this. Up and down, my love."

Not trusting her reaction, she did as he directed, smoothing her fingers along his tender skin in fascination; unknowingly applying too firm a grip. This was new but it wasn't an unpleasant experience, despite her initial disgust. "Is this all I do?"

His expression was so pained that she immediately stopped, and dropped her hand away from his body; deeply worried she was hurting him.

He merely returned her hand to its previous position, and encouraged her to resume her ministrations. "Not quite so tight but don't stop," he begged in low tones, hissing through his strained lips. "That's it. Please; more like this."

His right hand surrounded hers and continued to show her how he liked to be caressed. Soon, the fingers of his left hand that stopped her from moving away from him, gripped her shoulder and dug in to her flesh. Her arm began to rapidly ache with the effort of steadily grabbing hold of his 'little man', and she wondered if this would ever end. "Are we almost done?"

When she asked her question, he spat out through gritted teeth, "Keep going. I'm going to…"

Given the choice, she wouldn't have done, but she reasoned that he must be close to whatever he wanted by now. Surely he was? A weird trance-like state had taken him over.

Seconds later his whole body tensed, causing her to think he had suffered some sort of ailment like a stroke; and then he cried out as his body pulsed all over her hand.

Ew, ew ew! Her only thought was calculating how to get away from his emission at the first opportunity. Disgust was written all over her face, but with his eyes clenched tight shut, there was no way he would have been able to see it. "Can I let go yet?"

"Yes," he panted. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to soil your hand. Please forgive me."

"Is that normal?" she wondered, trying to shake the excess off surreptitiously.

He caught hold of her waving limb to quieten her movements. "Yes. As I said, I'm sorry. Now let's get you washed and cleaned up ready for bed."

"Will you be able to sleep now?"

"I will have the sleep of a very happy man, thanks to you." He beamed a delighted smile at her. "You fulfil all my dreams."

"Even your nightmares?" she pondered, risking a teasing smile.

In answer he pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "That would only happen if you ever left me."

"Then I'd better make sure I stay, John," she reasoned, and was graced with the most beautiful smile she had ever had directed at her. The ache in her arm was worth every second of it.

There were aspects of this relationship that would take some getting used to, but she was finally beginning to feel like a proper wife. That night she happily fell asleep encased within his loving and grateful embrace.

~o0o~

A favour, once bestowed, will always be sought again. This was a valuable lesson in life she would soon learn anew. Donna had hoped that one sexual favour would be it, and she would never have to touch him so intimately again. She thought wrong. Instead, it was like opening Pandora's box; his hunger and desire soon returned. In fact, the urge reappeared with frightening insistence the following morning as he woke up.

Donna was horrified. Was this it? Would the rest of her life be spent wrapping her fingers around his aroused flesh? Even in her mind she was reluctant to refer that part of him as 'his little man'. That name had seemed innocent and charming when she had first said it, but now it had taken on a new meaning; as if he had been possessed by the devil himself.

In seconds she was shaking like a leaf, franticly testing out theories in her mind as to how she could avoid a repeat performance so soon after the initial one.

John had sat up in the bed, in deep concern, and had pulled her quivering body into a comforting hug. "What is the matter, Donna? Why do you tremble so? Does something ail you? Are you too ill to go to church this morning?"

The thought of facing the judgemental women of the congregation made her shiver even more. Oh Lord, please help me, she silently begged. How could she look them in the eye when she had committed such a sin with her husband? They would know the instant they set eyes upon her that she had transgressed her marriage vows in such a heinous way.

"I cannot go," she gasped in terror. "Not today. Please don't make me go back there."

"I won't," he readily promised, crushing her to his chest. "Just stay here, with me," he lovingly whispered into her ear. "We need not leave the bed if that is to your liking."

What would staying in bed with him entail? Her calmed fears instantly rose up again. "No God fearing person would remain in bed all day."

With a tender caress to her cheek, he answered, "Prayers can be said in bed if you are unwell. Stay here a while and I shall make you some tea."

"But we have a very limited supply," she modestly commented as he rose to leave her side.

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow in her direction. "You should have some, to boost your constitution," he fondly insisted. "Let me wait on you awhile."

Well, she thought as she watched him bustle about with the tea things, his exceptionally good mood should be encouraged; especially if it meant that he reversed their normal roles for a time, however short. Perhaps their act of sin _was_ worth the temporary toll on her soul? An idea was sparked in her mind to experiment and find out. After all, he had not disappeared out onto the veranda yet.

Someone had once said that it is better to be hung for a sheep than a lamb, so perhaps committing the same sin twice would nullify or supersede the first instance.

"This act of kindness deserves a reward," she remarked when he handed her a freshly made cup of tea a few minutes later. Despite his best efforts, a flash of interest escaped its confines and produced a broad grin on his face with an answering blush upon her skin. "What would you like?" she offered, forcing herself to pat the space in the bed beside her.

"I…" He gawped at her before hurriedly clambering beneath the bedcovers. "I erm… a reward would be appreciated, if well meant."

She coquettishly kissed his cheek. "Let me drink my tea and then we shall make the necessary arrangements," she breathily suggested, her lips still next to his skin.

He visibly gulped. "Tea first is good," he squeaked.

It was impossible for her not to chuckle when he then took a hasty sip from his own tea cup. For some reason, disturbing his natural confidence always amused her. "Delicious," she declared, letting the black leaves weave their magic over her senses.

It was against her nature to waste the good effects tea gave, or drink it in haste, but the power it evoked in her body; power that would render the man by her side into putty within her hands, was far too tempting. Like many things with him were proving to be.

Amazingly, he didn't burn himself as he downed the tea in record time. His thoughts were elsewhere; reliving those precious moments the night before, and hoping to re-enact them at the earliest opportunity. Like a predator, he watched her delicately sip the remaining tea in her cup, eager to ask his question, and keen to gain a positive response.

The cup audibly clanked down onto its saucer, filling the heavy silence in the cabin.

"Are you suitably refreshed?" he asked. Please read between the lines. Please please please, he internally begged.

"I might need a little something else," she murmured, anticipating him moving closer.

"You do?" His brow furrowed as his hopes began to be dashed. "Can I provide anything?"

To his delight, she coyly replied, "Oh yes, John, but you will have to apply it."

Her glance towards his lips merely confirmed his suspicions, and he met her halfway in a kiss that soon became searing and heady.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** I've had to slightly edit this away from its original version **.**

* * *

 **Part 9**

.

There was something about him that always filled her head with abandoned feelings and exotic senses. His lips were the softest thing she had ever encountered, urging her on to taste a wild fantasy of exciting promises.

All of him. She wanted all of him, in any way that he offered.

As his lips moved over hers, she didn't want to think of modesty, sin or duty. He was her universe in that moment and she wanted to please him, in the only way she knew how. So she reached out to caress a hand down his torso, smoothing a path over his nightshirt until she landed on the bulge below his stomach.

"Oh yes," he immediately groaned.

What she hadn't expected to occur was him rolling over her body, to land pressing down on her lower torso. It felt so right to have him rest there, all hard and soft at the same time; causing a primeval pleasure to course through her body. So when the pressure instantly became an intimate joy as he moved against her to simulation sex, she gasped out in reactive shock, despite instinctively rising to join him.

"What are you doing? Don't enter me, please don't," she quietly but persistently begged.

"Donna, there are two layers of material between us. Both of our nightwear would be impossible to break through," he gently pointed out. "There is no need to worry. Feel." He took hold of her hand to guide it to where they weren't properly joined. "See. I am one side of our clothing, and you are on the other."

His words and actions soothed her fears a great deal; yet it left guilt in its wake. "But is this wrong?" she fretted.

"No," he insisted. "Not unless you do not want this to happen between us."

They were touching yet not touching. It was such sweet torture as he held himself above her body to rub and daintily prod.

"I think I do," she cautiously answered, now resting her hand on his lower back.

In doing so, she could feel every movement he made as he simulated making love. Her breath had begun to stutter in her throat as her emotions warred with the pleasure she was sensing. It felt so good it had to be bad.

After some moments, he offered, "I could try doing something to help you enjoy this more, if you like?"

"Like what?" she queried.

"I want to feel your skin."

"Yes, oh yes," she readily agreed; and helped him not only remove his night shirt but also her nightdress.

Before she could even voice her trepidation about being completely naked together, he shifted his leg so that he no longer rested between her thighs and lined up to breech her intimately. She breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God he was being as respectful as always. How would she ever have coped if he wasn't? In that moment, love for him swelled up and filled her heart.

Could she really love this man so? She had only known him a short time, but no one had ever treated her in this way; no one had ever wanted to try. With a tender caress, she placed her hand upon his cheek. This wonderful man was gazing at her with such adoration that she yearned to please him.

His attention had been on trailing his fingertips lovingly over her breasts, captivated by the way she responded to his touch. It made him want to see how else he could make her aroused. Immediately, one of his hands released a breast and trailed down her torso, making her draw in a breath when it landed on her hip bone to intimately stroke her skin with his thumb.

He gazed thoughtfully at her hair fanned out on the pillow, her trusting eyes, and her body laid open to his view. Many men boasted of tasting a woman intimately, and although he had thought they were lying at the time, right now he could understand the temptation; because he longed to explore her further with his tongue. Perhaps if he could pleasure her with his fingers she would let him attempt that at a later date? He considered this as he smoothed his fingers across her lower stomach and then bent to press his lips there.

"What are you doing?" she fearfully asked.

"Loving you," he softly answered. "I am going to touch you intimately with my fingers, and only my fingers. Tell me as I do so what feels good and what does not. Has anyone ever done this for you before?"

"No!" she blustered. "I'm not like that."

"I know, my sweet," he soothed her, still gently stroking her skin. "I want you to hold onto my 'little man' so that you are aware exactly where I am at all times as I do this; I cannot go anywhere without your permission. Is that alright?"

She nodded her agreement, not trusting her voice to betray her mortification.

Relieved that she wasn't already pushing him away, he gradually eased forward onto his knees as she took a firm hold of him below, and resumed their passionate kisses.

"Like this," he said, demonstrating his intentions by trailing his hand down past her hip to rest upon the intimate area not even she had felt brave enough to explore a great deal. "Let me know if it hurts, if I'm too harsh, or if you want it harder."

With trepidation, she lay quite still, feeling the movement of his fingers first over and then down. But when she felt his middle finger insert itself into her body, she yelped in protest and discomfort.

Fortunately he immediately withdrew it. "Sorry, so sorry," he murmured to quell her fears. "I will not do that again. I er… merely thought…"

"Well you thought wrong," she griped, frowning at him. "That wasn't pleasant in the slightest." Any sting her words might have held was eased away by the soothing motion of his fingers as he sought a more pleasing effect. "But that is nicer."

"Like this?" he sought to confirm as he continued his caressing action.

He was gentle, smoothing up and down, relaxing her body. "It's very nice," she reassured him, "but isn't this self-abuse?"

"I am doing this to you, not myself; so it wouldn't count as self-abuse." He chuckled in amusement. "This is all part of making love so don't feel guilty about it."

Before she could open her mouth to question him further, his mouth clamped over hers to kiss her deeply; his tongue pressed against hers in synch with the press of his fingers over her aroused flesh.

To think she had thought they had shared passionate kisses before, but these kisses were on a different level. She melted into them, letting him sweep her away on a tidal wave of desire, saved from drowning by the knowledge that he was there to save her when she faltered.

There was a moment that she gasped out when she felt his fingers begin their intimate dancing touch, having placed her thighs further apart; leaving her more open to his questing digits. The intrusion was more unexpected than uncomfortable, and he was reverent in his caresses; stroking up and down. She would never have dared done this to herself. But for him, her husband, to do this to her, seemed somehow right. And it felt more 'right' the longer he did it, urging her groans of acceptance on with the flick of his tongue in her mouth.

"That's it. Let your body show you. Don't think about it," he whispered before plundering her mouth once more.

To her surprise, her whole body tried to rise up to meet him, in order to urge him on.

"It's…," she stammered, unable to find appropriate words.

"I know," he crooned.

That was when the most unusual occurrence in her life happened. His mouth muffled her cries as pleasure rolled through her body. Such sweet torture.

Following her unspoken lead, and judging by the way she suddenly tugged on him when certain flicks of his finger caused her to jolt, he slid his finger over her aroused flesh; delighting in the sounds she was making.

Her whimpers told him she was close, and he was learning fast what particular touches gained positive reactions from her, so he opened his eyes to see what happened when her orgasm hit. A flush heightened her natural skin tone, her lips turned a delicately deep shade of pink, and her breathing went erratic. In that moment he was positive he had never seen anything so beautiful, and he wanted to immediately achieve this again.

"Are you alright, my love?" he asked as her body gradually calmed.

"I erm… I think so," she panted, licking her lips to regain some moisture . "Is that normal?"

To be honest, he had no idea. This was the first time he'd ever seen it happen, but he wasn't going to admit that. "Only if you're lucky," he cheekily stated, giving her mouth another peck of a kiss. "Do you fancy doing that again some time?"

"Oh yes," she readily answered. "But what about you?" she wondered, looking down at his body.

"Oh me?" he nonchalantly replied, trying not to pay attention to his fully erect, hard and very insistent shaft. "I'll go and deal with that in a moment unless, of course, you would not mind obliging me...?"

She nodded her understanding. "If I may… seeing as we are experimenting to see what we like… may I try something of my own?" she tentatively proposed.

"Of course," he allowed, wondering what she was about to try. There was something about her shy blush that was enchanting. "What would you like me to do?"

"Nothing really," she admitted, as she took hold of his 'little man', silently vowing that she would find a better name for it. "You have to carry on what you are doing now, and I do the work."

"Oh my sweet Lord!" he cried out in pleasure when she rubbed his erection over her aroused flesh; unable to keep his eyes open until a thought occurred to him. "Is this wise for you to allow this intimacy?"

"As long as it is me guiding you, then yes, it is," she stuttered, as the experiment proved to be extremely rewarding for her sensitivities. A groan passed her lips. "Oh John, this far exceeds your fingers, don't you think?"

He was gritting his teeth by now, fighting an internal battle with his primeval side to not take advantage and press home within her body. Already his legs had involuntarily moved so that both his knees returned to being between her thighs. His torso was tightening, readying itself for climax, as she continued to apply him to seek another orgasm. She had his sympathies, she really did; but he wanted her. Now. And nothing could stop that, it would seem.

"Donna," he strained out; partially in warning and mainly in prayer.

"What?" That was when she made her mistake and let go of her possessive hold.

Nature dictates that things follow a lubricated path; and he slid in like a hot knife through butter.

They both gasped in shock that this had happened; and he stilled his body, dreading what the aftermath of this might be.

"I tried to warn you," he mumbled, feeling unwanted traitorous movement from his own body. Taking in a deep breath, he stated, "I should withdraw."

Which he immediately did. However his reluctance to do so was very telling.

She would have to face this eventually, she told herself. Was there any point in waiting any longer? It had been terrifying her the longer she anticipated it happening. Perhaps if she let him have her body, he wouldn't want to do so again, and it would all be over and done with. And it wasn't as if this bit was as ghastly as she had imagined.

"Or maybe not," she offered. "Go on then, but please be gentle with me. That's if you still want to, of course."

This couldn't be true. Was this really happening? He had the best wife in all the world! So many happy emotions filled him. Lifting up his hands to tilt her face, he pulled her lips back to him, and kissed her with hunger and passion.

He lowered his arms to wrap them possessively around her body, not letting her get away. "Please, Donna. Oh please," he quietly answered.

The painful thrust she had expected didn't happen, instead he continued to kiss her; deepening their contact. Then he slowly eased in, as though waiting for any cry of pain before continuing further; filling her in a way she had never experienced before. She couldn't say it was completely horrible, but the shock of his physical invasion had rather wiped out any pleasure she might have felt.

"You're beautiful, so beautiful," he huffed out as he began his gradual slide in and out, holding her tightly to his body. "My beautiful wife."

After some minutes, he had to stop kissing her, and concentrated on thrusting harder, faster and more fluidly; gritting his teeth as he did so. Not knowing what or why he was doing this, she watched in fascination as he neared completion. The added in "I love you!" was a surprise, but she chose to ignore that as a thing of the moment. Then with a long warble followed by a loud grunt, he stilled before sagging, resting his head on her shoulder; kissing the exposed skin there.

"Are you alright?" she wondered. At least it looked as though it had all finished.

"Thank you," he gasped out. "You've made me the happiest man alive."

"I'm sure that's not true," she disparaged herself before she could stop it.

So he lifted his head to confirm his thoughts; cradling her face between his hands in loving homage. "You have, by being more than I could ever have imagined." He added a quick kiss on the end of her nose. "Did I hurt you? Sorry if it was too much. Are you in pain still?"

"I'm fine," she tried to brightly say.

But he didn't believe her, and quite rightly so. "I will make this better for you in future. I promise. Together we will find out what pleases you as well as me."

"If you say so," she responded, knowing she was blushing in embarrassment.

All the women who had ever spoken to her about sex with their husbands had all said it was something to be endured after having sweet nothings said to them, not enjoyed. And it was clearly evident that John, along with many other husbands, enjoyed the act of sex. Was it even possible to end up liking this? For him she was willing to try.

Despite feeling more than disappointed that he had not satisfied her, he felt optimistic that they could improve their sex life. If it meant that he loved her more than she did him, he was confident he could persuade her to love him a little more in return. "I do say so," he firmly replied. "We shall discover something just for you."

"Together," she confirmed; and gained a heart melting smile from him in return.

~o0o~


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 10**

.

It was weird how things readjusted themselves as the proverbial dust settled. In this respect, it amazed her that they were cuddlers now; it was official. In the days that followed the social consummation of their marriage, John would often rush up and suddenly hug Donna during the day; allowing himself to momentarily enjoy her physical company and reassure himself that she existed to fend off his loneliness. Or in less hurried moments, when the varying tasks of the day had been dealt with, he would pull her as close as possible to cuddle. These cuddles had no particular agenda or geographical place to occur. They would happen as they sat at the table, on the bed, out on the veranda, when she entered the workshop to announce a meal was ready, and any other time the mood took them. Naturally, it was John who began the habit, but soon Donna felt able to initiate a mutually beneficial cuddle too.

Cuddles were not the only physical contact she was gradually easing into. Tender touches and caresses soon became a much yearned for habit too; and with that, the freedom to express how she really felt about her situation was steadily attained. Finally, she was allowed to wallow in the loving attention of someone. In turn, he did not mind when she returned his attentions; in fact, he seemed to revel in them.

This was something she had never ever been allowed to even consider before in her life, since she had been wrapped up in stern protocols before her marriage. Gone were the previous social shackles that dictated her every emotion should be repressed; and now she had a man who offered a taste of freedom that suggested there would be more. It was heavenly to have such a free-flowing slowly building relationship. Things could not be better, on one level; and yet there was the whole matter of their sex life to contend with.

He too felt generally happy with his lot. Since they had consummated their marriage, despite the numerous faltering moments that occurred where John had needed to call upon Donna to assist his relief, they had managed to make love, in some form, several times. Every day they had tried to gain a full union again between them, but she was everything he could have ever wanted in every other way. His patience was tried, that's for sure, but he felt that the end result was worth the effort in letting her achieve this desired state on her own terms and in her own time.

So far they had followed the same pattern, depending on whether it was evening or morning. For evenings, he tried to be considerate and loving, letting his wife gain some pleasure first, by arousing her with kisses and intimate stroking, so that she reached a certain plateau first. Each time he encouraged her to also apply his 'little man' in a similar fashion, before he acquired his own satisfaction; always mindful to be gentle and patient. As yet, she had not attained penetrative orgasm, but his dream was to achieve that for her one day.

In the morning, things were a little more frenetic, unfortunately. His often expressed sorrow about exploiting her patience with his urgent need to have sex rather than make love was met by her insisting that she understood and had every confidence that he would be able to carry out his promise.

It was an uneasy compromise, this fluctuation between the desired and mere personal satisfaction but he was determined to create a loving environment for her she could relax into and eventually revel in. Fortunately Donna was prepared to take him in hand, quite literally and metaphorically, so he praised God for the chance to have such a woman in his life at every opportunity.

~o0o~

Talking of praising God, they had returned to the church a week later. It had been decided between them that they would do so once they had paid their respects to John's late wife and daughters, knowing this was an important step in their relationship. They had stood together by that single grave, reading the names marked on the headstone, and Donna's heart had broken for him.

"They were so young," she murmured sadly, politely ignoring the tears that shone in his eyes.

"Marie is… was the same age as you," he brokenly whispered. It was the first time he had dared utter her name out loud in years. "You would have been firm friends."

"I think we would, had we met," Donna agreed, trailing her arm from where it rested around his waist to curl around his shoulders, and hugged him tight.

He returned the embrace, needing it like he needed air. "I'm sorry," he mumbled into her neck.

"Hush now," she soothed him. "There is nothing to be sorry for."

He lifted his head away in order to closely regard her. "I should warn you, I am nothing but a fool."

"Then I am thankful you are my fool now," she consoled him, and kissed his cheek.

They would have held each other longer but someone could be seen to be making their way closer through the churchyard. So John changed their stance so that Donna's arm was once more wrapped around his own and greeted the newcomers. "Good morning, Mr and Mrs Caldecott."

Mr Caldecott eagerly returned the greeting, but Mrs Caldecott did little more than nod at John.

This in itself was unusual, but then the very same thing happened when they saw Mr and Mrs Brown before the church service. It had been agreed between the Smiths that their return visit to church had partially been so that Donna could hold her head up as a 'real wife' now. John had chuckled with delight at her attitude before they had set off from home, and had felt that he was merely entertaining her foolishness; but then Mrs Caldecott and Mrs Brown had later practically snubbed Donna again outside the church after the service, while the Rev McGregor spoke with their husbands.

John was not pleased.

"Please excuse me one moment, Mrs Smith," he had requested, and then stepped away from her to confront this problem.

"Gold digger," Mrs Brown had stage whispered to him when he had politely asked if something was amiss with his wife. "She will bleed you dry."

Shocked at the venom in her words, he had looked to Mrs Caldecott to see whose honour she would defend.

"It isn't right marrying someone so old," Mrs Caldecott had added. "She'll never be able to present you with the son you deserve."

"I beg your pardon!" he had haughtily snapped. "Mrs Smith is the finest woman I have ever laid eyes on. It is you, ladies, who have bled your husbands dry and failed to provide healthy offspring, so it is not inconceivable to determine why you are unable to speak even a kind word!"

"How dare you!" Mrs Caldecott had cried in response.

"I dare," he blazed, "because you have prematurely shrivelled up and died."

"And what say you?" Mrs Brown aimed towards Donna, who had edged nearer. "Have you enjoyed coming into our midst and causing such trouble?"

So they'd finally decided to acknowledge she was stood there, had they? She wasn't going to let this opportunity go in order to let rip. "I think you two are the biggest pair of two-faced, evil, conniving, old witches I have ever had the misfortune to come across. It must really get under your claws that my husband chose me and didn't look your way. Well, you can take your poxy double standards and stick them up your…!"

The final word didn't get uttered because John had clamped his hand over her mouth, and whispered, "Not in front of the house of God, Mrs Smith. But I condone your sentiments."

"Well I never!" Mrs Brown proclaimed, grabbing hold of Mrs Caldecott's arm and forcing her to flounce off.

Under the combined glare from the Smiths, Mrs Caldecott added, "Some people!" to her friend. But it was evident from their stance that they were deeply hurt by the unexpected retaliation.

The men around them regarded this drama with glee.

"Those two women are too self-important," one man remarked. "They had it coming."

That broke the frosty atmosphere that had descended the churchgoers, but Donna found that she could not completely relax, and yearned to return home at the first opportunity.

~o0o~

The journey home saw John using up his angry energy to row their boat as fast as he could along the river. But it wasn't until they were almost home when he noticed that Donna was still downhearted, so he slowed down and reached out for her hand.

"Are you still worrying about losing your temper outside the church?" he gently asked, offering a consoling squeeze. "Reverend McGregor assured me that he was not offended by the incident and that, in the circumstances, you were justified. He even went so far as to offer to take both ladies to task for their unchristian behaviour." He then released his hold on her hand and grinned genially.

"I suspected as much," she admitted, giving a small sniff, "but that isn't what troubles me."

"Oh, Mrs Smith?" He smiled encouragingly.

"Well, Dr Smith, I don't really know where to start. Both Mrs Caldecott and Mrs Brown have no children, you once said, and today you described them as prematurely shrivelled," she recalled. "Do you view every woman in exactly that situation in the same light?"

He carefully thought out her question. "I have never considered whether or not I do such a thing," he admitted after some moments. "Why?"

She nervously gulped and looked away. "I myself am barren, so am I equally shrivelled and unattractive?"

"Good gracious, no," he insisted. How had he even managed to imply such a thing? This needed to be rectified.

Fortunately the welcoming jetty of home beckoned, and he could distract her for some minutes as they clambered out of the boat. But the matter was obviously playing on her mind, so he wasn't exactly surprised that she returned to the subject when he later asked her to tell him what ailed her as she sipped the cup of tea he had made them both.

She sat cautiously hugging the cup of tea in her hands, letting the last dregs of the fire in the grate try to warm the cold press of doubt in her heart. "Do you mind terribly that I may never bear you a son or even a daughter at my advanced age?"

Setting down his cup, he garnered his thoughts carefully together and knelt in front of her to emphasise his words; laying one hand on her knee and grasping her free hand with the other. "I do not need nor expect you to provide me with anything but your continuing regard and companionship. Please let me assure you on this matter."

There was a faint nod in acknowledgement before she drew in a breath. Her voice was quiet and on the edge of tears as she asked, "But what if I became pregnant with your child? Would you hate me?"

"What? Never!" he vowed. "It would be God's will to grant us such a gift or not. If it happened, I cannot imagine the joy I would feel. But please believe me, Donna. Should we ever be blessed with a child, it would be a sign I have been forgiven for my past misdemeanours; not a victory over Mrs Brown or Mrs Caldecott. With you I am complete."

She trembled, still beset by fears. "Then you genuinely do not demand that I give you a son to replace your lost daughters?"

His expression went wide in shock as he stood to protest his innocence. "Why ever would you think such a thing? A son would not be like replacing the broken laces in my boots for new ones. I never even thought to remarry until you came into my life, yet I have no regrets. So come and join me in prayer and be thankful for the day I was blessed with you."

Blushing, she mocked, "A little overstated, Dr Smith."

"No, I will not have this formality between us when alone in our home," he complained; and brought her hand up to his lips, kissing it fondly. "Your modesty becomes you, and tugs upon my heart strings. For I declare, you are the handsomest of women, most precious, and worthy of my love."

It was the first time he had mentioned love outside the confines of the marriage bed and the act of consummation. "Worthy?" she queried.

"Most assuredly," he confirmed. "If you permit," he continued, drawing her up from her seat to stand with him, "I would like to demonstrate my full regard for you, this night."

This was finely tuned flirting, and she found the need to fan the hot flush that had appeared on her cheeks. Her heart wanted him to truly love her, but her head warred with how that regard would want to be demonstrated.

She gulped and then breathily suggested, "Then perhaps we ought to partake of a light supper before retiring for the night."

He could feel his blood heat up as it raced around his body, feeding his desire. Given a free choice, he would have bedded her then and there, to prove he was a man of his word; but that was neither his style nor true temperament. Instead, he wrapped her in an embrace that crushed her body closer in order to whisper a promise that had her shivering in anticipation. "Your wish is my command, whatever you ask of me."

His husky words turned her insides to jelly and if it hadn't been for his strong arms holding her around her waist she was sure she would have swooned in response. Her mouth moved wordlessly as she grasped for the right words to answer him. Fortunately her eyes had expressed the yearning within her, and he slowly but gently dipped forward to capture her lips in a searing kiss. All other thought was wiped from her mind to leave one clear wish: she wanted him.

He could not help but grin triumphantly when she murmured, "Let's forget about the food."

But she still yelped when he bent low and lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed; but only for a moment. It was a loving gesture that she truly appreciated.

As they traded kisses, jackets were flung aside; boots were hastily untied and kicked off, buttons unhooked, and laces undone. Every garment was fought over and removed unceremoniously. A spark had been ignited and they were determined to fan the flames. They were lightly panting with the effort by the time she was down to her bloomers and camisole whilst he had only his under breeches left to be removed.

Each time they got this far he had to stop himself from wondering if he would reach a more natural resolution or if she favoured only assisting him that evening. Such meanderings merely set his nerves on edge, and lessened his enjoyment of the proceedings; truth be told. It did not matter, he kept telling himself, because her well-being was paramount and she never let him gain nothing from their encounter. But he worried whether or not if she would be satisfied with their love making. Love was to be shared, not hoarded like nuggets of gold.

"Tell me what you want," he requested.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 11**

.

He had asked what she wanted from him. As usual, she didn't really know what her answer should be, let alone know how to voice it. The only thing she was certain of was what she didn't want him to do.

"I er, I would like..," she faltered, suddenly plunged into embarrassment as a thought occurred in her muddled head. Sensual pleasure, that's what she truly wanted from him; all wrapped up in a loving relationship.

"Just tell me," he quietly begged. "I have no intention of judging you, but merely want to make you happy."

"I don't know how to," she reluctantly confessed, having felt the need to turn her head away from his gaze. "I am so ashamed."

John changed his position to lie down beside her, and tenderly drew her into his embrace. "There is no need to be so with me," he assured her with kisses pressed tenderly to her temple. "We have shared intimacies for many days now and I would like us to continue to do so, to our mutual benefit."

"I cannot say," she quietly insisted. "It is unseemly."

"Is this the fault of those damned women again?" he quizzed her. "This is a matter between us and only us, and is nobody else's business." He took a calming breath. "I want to express how you make me feel, and I want you to feel relaxed enough with me to help you experience the very thing I assume you crave."

"And what is that?" she wondered, hoping against hope that he genuinely understood.

So he tilted her face towards his lips and whispered against her skin, "Fulfilment. Pleasure. Love."

"I..," she stammered again; and breathily invited, "Show me."

Instantly she was then lost for words as his mouth placed open mouthed kisses on her jawline, neck, chest, cleavage and, pushing aside the edge of her camisole, sought out flesh to suck and tongue, shooting desire low in her stomach.

Soon he had pushed off her camisole and all traces of clothing were gone between them, leaving him free to explore her body. His fingertips caressed the other side, swirling the pad of his finger around it, setting up a tortuous delight that had her writhing below him.

"Ooh, you like that," he crooned next to her creamy skin. He held her breast lovingly within the palm of his hand; kneading, fondling and caressing the soft tissue in turn. "You are so beautiful," he groaned and returned to tug her aroused pearl of flesh between his teeth and lips.

She giggled because it tickled when he kissed a trail down her body. She also laughed with nervous energy when he continued to follow down a path that led over her stomach, across her hip bone and then down her leg, ending with him adding in a last kiss on the very tip of her toe.

When he then began a return journey to kiss up her other leg, her fears rose up too. Her heart beat faster when he halted at her groin and flashed a mischievous grin in her direction.

"What are you doing?" she spluttered.

"Sh, sh shh," he crooned to waylay her fears. "I am merely loving you. May I try something with my tongue? I promise to stop immediately if you do not like it."

With his tongue and not his 'little man'? Curiosity got the better of her. Okay, she would give it a go, just to see what he had meant when he had whispered all those sweet nothings into her ear.

"Yes," she allowed, and was intrigued to see him immediately dip his head in glee.

What followed was a complete surprise, and an unexpected joy. He parted her thighs further, opening her fully to his view, and then seemed to change his mind about something and planted a kiss just above her most intimate area. Her shocked gasp brought his head up immediately, and he smiled apologetically.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No," she insisted. "I just wasn't expecting that."

"Sorry." He took hold of her hand and placed it firmly on his 'little man'. "Why don't you let us enjoy this together?"

She nodded her acceptance, not wanting to agree out loud. That would be unseemly, even for a married woman. But he had trusted her to do this with him before, and she in turn had trusted him not to take unwanted advantage. Perhaps this time she would not freeze and halt from going further? In order to find out, she manhandled his erection as gently as she could, allowing him to delve more intimately on her flesh.

Holding himself up above her body on his strong arms, John returned to kissing her lips, and was soon practically sucking her face, consuming her with passion and relish. Propriety went out the window as she returned his sentiments with gusto. Her stifled whimpers and groans joined his moans of delight, and she was powerless to resist the wave of desire that swept her along with it. Crying out a loud warble of pleasure, her best orgasm yet hit.

She panted with satisfaction and could not help laughing at the smug expression of success on his raised face when he collapsed down partially next to her. "Think you are good, eh?" she teased him.

"Oh, now I know so," he replied with a beaming smile. "I rather got the impression you liked that."

"I might have done," she reluctantly admitted. Propriety still maintained that she not confess such a thing. But his continuing gentleness gave her the courage to exchange her usual "Did you want me to…?" as she gestured vaguely towards his still erect flesh, for a "Can we… I would like to try doing this properly again."

Did she really mean it? "Please," he huskily pled when she took hold of him.

He was still long, hard and very willing; but he waited for her to guide him home. It was tempting to push in rather than wallow in her wet warmth. So tempting. But to do so would ruin the easy atmosphere they had built around them, so he let her move on him, cupping her body close, drawing him onwards towards his desired goal.

Alas, he was unable to control a thrust of his own; and she immediately tensed and then stopped. Seconds later she had pushed him away. _Fool!_ he chastised himself.

Seeing his bitter expression, she sought to comfort him. "I'm sorry, it isn't your fault. I just could not continue."

"The fault is all mine, my love," he insisted. "I was selfish, and for that I am sorry."

"Then let me forgive you," she suggested, returning her hand to caress his shaft and bring him to ecstasy.

When he yelled his own shout of completion some minutes later, she did not feel downhearted. Instead, she felt as though an important corner in their relationship had been turned. This time hadn't been so bad. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would try again.

~o0o~

On that very first morning after they had had successful penetrative sex, John had fallen sleep; exhausted and sated by their quest into full married life. They had talked for a while, and traded loving kisses before Donna had snuggled into his side and dozed with him, feeling very contented with her lot and safely contained within his loose embrace. There had seemed no point in donning their nightwear in light of the fact that they would have to eventually leave the bed and get dressed, so they had laid together in naked bliss, enjoying the warmth the other offered.

It was still the case when they woke up in the morning; except this particular Monday morning they had the added bonus of also glowing in the aftermath of their return to church and they had faced the community with a united front. They were more than a married couple now; they were a team.

So while John slept on, she had sought out a Scottish lace chemise she had invested in, long ago for her 'bottom drawer' honeymoon lingerie, and quickly put it on. The softness of the cotton against her skin was divine, creating a greater sense of power. She smiled in satisfaction, thinking of how the garment had taken her weeks to save up for. It was a luxury she would not be able to afford any more, but the thought did not sadden her a great deal, for she had gained an even better treasure in her husband.

He lay partially sprawled across the bed, mouth open in a gentle snore, with his hand reaching out to where she had left a vacant spot. Unable to resist, she had sat back on the bed and trailed a hand over the smattering of dark hair that covered the upper part of his chest. Beneath her fingertips she could feel the steady beat of his heart. It was so unusual to see him at perfect rest during the day; there was always a project to be completed, a new thing to learn, or another task to carry out and endure in the name of survival. She had learned so much about general handicrafts from him in the short time they had been married, trying out the tools in his workshop, and laughing together at her mistakes. But he had praised her efforts, and she in turn had grown steadily in confidence. Now she was unafraid to ask for his help when needed.

How had this man ever been in the army, she wondered? Okay, he had been a medic rather than a regular soldier; but even so, it was hard to imagine him within the bloody fray of battle. And the thought of him being wounded in kind troubled her a great deal. How would she cope if anything ever happened to him? It was this thought that brought her hand down to where a vicious scar was embedded in his lower right side. A lifesaving operation had caused it, he had said. Tenderly, she smoothed a finger over the scar, wishing she could heal him. A wish that compelled her to return her hand to rest over his heart and contemplate the pain he still carried there.

This man, this wonderful, handsome, sexy and caring man deserved to be loved by someone, and she silently vowed that she would repay his kindness in any way that she could. Adding in a kiss over his heart, she was aware of a flutter in his breathing, so she added more such tender touches; working her way across and down his body.

It all seemed innocent enough. That is, it did, until she found herself face to face with a semi erect 'little man' that bobbed up and down for attention like a penile puppy. She swept her gaze upwards to his face, but John wasn't awake yet. Perhaps she should provide a pleasant way for him to wake?

The skin on his stomach was so soft against her lips; and the light hairs there tickled her nose, but she carried on. Having placed a kiss by his scar, she instantly heard a sleepy, "What are you doing?"

Thus caught out, she did her best to look coy. "Merely loving you," she imitated him from the day before.

Using a scrunched up fingers gesture, he gently beckoned her closer. "Come up here."

"Why?" she asked as she moved up the bed and let him grasp her hands to pull her closer still.

"Because you deserve a kiss too," he simply answered, drawing her into his arms.

"Will there be a payment required for this kiss?" she pondered as she relaxed into his embrace.

"I shall have to think what I can offer you," he considered, and moved to capture her mouth. But he halted when she giggled. "Have I amused you with my declaration?"

"You have indeed," she allowed, "because I was expecting to pay you, not the other way around."

He smirked with glee and drew her lips close again. "Then we are both the winner in this exchange."

Settling over his body, he turned her within his embrace as they traded and exchanged their growing loving and passionate kisses. To her surprise, she ended up straddling his hips, and smiled self-consciously as she felt him harden beneath her intimate flesh.

"Is this allowed?" she wondered. "Perhaps I should change position."

"There is nothing within the marriage contract that says we cannot lie this way," he encouraged. "So stay wherever you like."

She nodded shyly in agreement. "I am willing to stay awhile."

As he reached out to draw her lips back to him, she considered the precious lace garment she wore, and sat upright in order to remove it, rising to her knees to do so. Beneath her, John happily watched her rid herself of the camisole, leading to her yearned for nakedness. The sight of her unfettered breasts alone sparked his desire, so that when Donna went to sit back down again, he was no longer offering the delight of being smoothed upon, but instead pressed up expectantly to gain eager entrance into her body.

"Oh," she gasped at the unexpected sensation.

In reply, his knees had already involuntarily risen and parted to aid greater access. An apology was instantly on his lips to explain his forward behaviour; but she suddenly shot him a mischievous grin.

Why shouldn't she try this, her mind enquired. It would certainly be different from what she assumed was the normal way of things, but if you don't try, you'll never know.

And then, to his absolute delight, she sunk down, taking him in.

 _Don't move! Don't you dare move_ , he ordered himself. "Donna, do you think it is wise to do this," he warned. "Are you sure you wish to continue?"

"Yes," she determined. "Please, John. I want to try," she coyly replied.

"No no no, I wasn't trying to stop you. Merely voicing a concern. As always, I am your servant. Ask what you will of me and I shall oblige."

"Thank you," she murmured as he pushed up to touch her lips and partially sit, leaning back on his elbows.

The kiss he gave her was sweet and heady, but she wanted his mouth lower. 'Ask what you will of me,' he had said. So she placed her hands on his shoulders and sat up straighter, giving him clear access to her breasts.

He happily nuzzled her flesh, sending a thrill down into her groin. It caused her to begin to move on him, backwards and forwards, up and down; setting a delicious rhythm that soon had her groaning wantonly.

Falling back against the pillow, John took hold of her flailing hands to give her something to balance and push against; keeping up his internal mantra to not thrust into her enticingly welcoming body. He daren't ruin this moment for her, for them both. That would be unforgivable after all the hard work to acclimatise her to his bodily needs and accept her own.

In that moment she was his own personal goddess. Watching her rise and fall on him as she enjoyed their mutual pleasure was almost enough to push him over the edge into completion, so he mentally listed all the things he found monotonous and boring, keen to let her gain her much needed release first.

When little growls and gasps burst out from deep in her throat, he instinctively knew she was close. But when she shuddered and jerked in ecstasy, he could no longer hold onto his loose grasp of control, and with his cries of fulfilled passion, he thrust upwards along to spurted out words and sounds of joy.

Could life get any better than this?

They looked at each, both panting for breath, smiling broadly in glee. John tenderly cradled her face. "I love you," he softly proclaimed.

As he had expected, she did not return the sentiment; but at least she had not rejected him this time.

"That was…," she gasped.

"It was," he agreed. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes," she readily answered. "More than before."

That was obviously the understatement of the year, judging by the satisfied moans and groans she had uttered when they were locked together. "Would you like that to happen again, now that I know what you like?"

"I erm…" She coyly dipped her head away from gazing directly into his eyes. "I think that I would."

Happiness soared within his heart at her words. If he could stop himself from taking charge again, but let her take the lead, then there was no reason why they could not enjoy a sexual reunion whenever they fancied. And he fancied doing so with her very much.

~o0o~


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** my anxiety is very thankful it could hide within this story for a bit longer.

* * *

 **Part 12**

.

Looking through the window, Donna could easily see John as he held the axe high before bringing it crashing down onto a lump of wood, splitting it perfectly. It wasn't the only perfect thing to feast her eyes on, she idly noted; right before the realisation she had thought such a thing created a deep blush upon her cheeks.

Her hands came up to cool the sudden flush that coursed through her body.

This was not allowed. Gentlewomen did not peek out windows to ogle men with sweat glistening on bared skin. Nor did they contemplate the flow of muscles beneath taught hairy chests. And they certainly did not view the way the fabric of their trousers glossed over the slight bulge that could oh so easily become much more when the man in question was aroused.

Waving a hand about to fan her face, Donna chided herself for looking upon her semi clad husband with such a pleasing, hungry eye. To add to her embarrassment, it was as if he was aware of the carnal thoughts drifting through her mind, because he suddenly halted what he was doing, lifted his head, and gave her a heart melting smile.

Aiming for nonchalance, she gave him as cheery a wave as she could, and then turned to find something to take out to him. Anything would do. All that she knew was that she had to find a way to be by his side and view him up close. Her gaze alighted on the jug of clear water that they kept to hand, so she busied herself with pouring him out a glassful. Having adjusted a stray wisp of hair, and the fall of her skirts, she stepped out into the heat of the day, towards the object of her desire.

"Is it time for dinner already?" he asked her. And momentarily took off his hat to wipe his brow.

Her eyes followed the action keenly; and a particular drop of sweat that drizzled down his cheek and onto his neck caught her attention. He had such a long neck, she noted, and she longed to follow the same salty course with her tongue.

"No, not dinner," she idly replied. "I thought I would bring you out a glass of water to refresh your tongue... I mean, mouth," she hastily corrected herself.

His smirk made her want to reach out and punch his arm for his impudence.

"Very well," he allowed, taking the glass from her hands. "Thank you. Are you feeling well?"

"Yes, very," she faintly answered. "The heat is affecting me. I had not expected you to remove your shirt."

Apparently not the only one. "It seemed easier to take it off. Are you offended by the sight of my bare chest, Mrs Smith?"

"No, merely a little startled, Mr Smith. Fortunately we have no visitors."

"Not of the human kind," he agreed. "We could walk about as nature intended if we so wished."

Appalled at his notions, she blustered, "Just drink your water and be grateful I understand your sense of humour."

Eyeing her carefully, he gulped down the last of the water, set the glass down, and reached out to place his arms around her waist. "The heat is causing your delicate skin to become overheated, my love. Either I will have to take you into some shade or you will have to remove some of your clothing," he huskily whispered. "What would you prefer I do?"

His lips had edged closer to hers, and although she knew she should have pushed him away, her heart yearned for her to allow such a public display. "We could..."

Her words did not get spoken, because their mouths met in a searing kiss that left her clutching his shoulders to stop falling over.

"Have you come out here to seduce me?" he teased, and laughed with delight when she inevitably denied it. "I know you did. Your eyes told me so."

There was a slight guilty shake of her head. "I cannot."

Cupping her cheek, he tenderly caressed her skin. "You can tell me if you wish to be intimate. It need not only be me who decides these things."

"You know I cannot," she insisted. "It would be unseemly to do so."

"This is a backwater in Canada, not some posh drawing room in London," he argued.

"Nevertheless, we are still British and civilised. It would not do for me to even hint."

John wrapped his arms more firmly around her body, crushing her to his chest, as he spoke directly into her ear, leaving goose bumps in its wake. "Then we shall devise a signal between us that only we know, that means you are requesting to be closely intimate at the first opportunity."

"Why first opportunity?"

"Because knowing you, you would try it out in church, just to tease me."

"That is true," she smirked in acknowledgement. "I probably would. What would such a signal be?"

"How about you do this?" With that, he trailed his fingertip along the back of her shoulder using the lightest touch. "It need not be much."

"Like this?" She copied his action, and then brought her mouth up to his ear. "If that didn't work, I would certainly not do this..." Taking a hold of his earlobe, she drew it in and suckled for a few seconds; glad to gain an amorous groan from him.

When her lips landed on his neck, he forced out, "We need to rest a while, inside somewhere; in the shade. You seem to be a little heated."

 _You don't seem little at all_ , flitted through her mind, right before he stooped and lifted her into his strong arms. "Oh!" Her mouth formed a perfect circle for a moment, and then pure embarrassment kicked in. "You will injure your back," she cried out in panic, gripping him tightly around his neck. "Put me down."

"Not until I find somewhere for us to rest, and then you can..." A deep blush appeared on his cheeks as he stammered out an apology. "Please forgive me for being so crude."

"Crude?" She scrunched her face in confusion. "In what way were you being crude? I do not understand."

His crimson blush remained on his face. "When I referred to you..." There was a vague waving up and down hand gesture. "On me. Moving on me, like you did, you know, yesterday. Going up and down..." His voice disappeared as her mortification grew.

"I..." Her eyes went wide as she tried to find the correct reaction. "That was merely an experiment. I would never...!"

"It is okay, my love," he quickly tried to soothe her; even going so far as to place her back on her feet so that he could offer a close embrace in comfort. "Sh Shh shhh! Do not fret so. I meant no harm with my words." He then sighed, breathing into her hairline as he kept her close. "All I am trying to do is make it easier for you to relax during our intimacies," he whispered, "and I know that you enjoyed our experiment together, so I propose that we try something similar."

"In what way similar?" she cautiously asked, relieved that he was offering something she could accept.

"I could be seated on a stool, the floor, or even the bed again," he suggested, "and you would be on my lap. Or… or... or in my lap. The correct term escapes me. But we would be…" He nervously gulped before stammering out quietly, "…joined."

"As before?" she sought to confirm. And waited for a nod from him. "It is a possibility."

"We need not be unclothed, if that worried you," he hastily tacked on. "It would be easy to push aside any garments."

This was obviously as embarrassing a topic of conversation for him as it was her, she was pleased to note. It was all very well thinking such carnal thoughts, but to actually say them out loud…? She mentally shuddered. It was inappropriate and degrading, to say the least.

In an equally small voice, she replied, "We could try that; should we consider carrying out such an experiment again."

"At the first opportunity," he answered; and deliberately trailed a finger along her shoulder to see how she would react.

There was the faintest response possible when a fingertip alighted on his shoulder. This was his permission to try, for her sake.

"Let me escort you inside, Mrs Smith. Your complexion requires that you escape from the sun a while, and take some refreshment."

"Thank you, Mr Smith," she readily responded.

It was with thanks that she tightly held onto his arm and he led her inside, because she feared that she would have swooned in that moment. His gaze was fiercely intense as he held her attention, with dark pools of desire that caused flutters of anticipation deep within her stomach. Hardly a sound was made, or needed to be, between them as they entered the shade of the cabin and the beckoning privacy it afforded.

Once the door was shut, his hands were brought up to tenderly cradle her face, and she gripped his shoulders; knowing the kiss was inevitable. Its ferocity startled her, but she readily opened to let him deepen the kiss. So passionate, that her breath was hard to find. So succulent, that she wanted more and more of him. How did he know how to reduce her to a quivering wreck like this? It was almost painful how much she wanted his loving embrace.

She proudly noted that his previous level of desire was back in full force. After all, a woman likes to know she can affect the man in her life in such a way. There was no denying that he wanted to make love with her, and truth be told, she was rather partial to the idea herself, given the right circumstances if her fears didn't cause her to bolt. So when he mumbled between ardent kisses, "Come and sit down with me," she followed without any qualms. "Just for a few moments," he added when she looked as though she might disagree to him being seated on the corner of the bed.

The object of the game was NOT to act as though she minded when he gradually lifted her skirts, she told herself. Fortunately, the dress was made of cheesecloth, rather than something richer, so it wasn't too bulky or heavy to wear in the summer heat. When his questing fingertips alighted on the gusset of her bloomers, she jerked in surprise. Her question as to why was immediately answered when he noted, "Not the split crotch ones, I see. We'll have to remove them."

There followed a flurry at her waist beneath her skirts, to untie her bloomers. She wanted to giggle when he not only successfully caused them to fall to the floor but also her underskirt and petticoat.

His warm hands landed briefly on the backs of her thighs before he muttered, "And now my layer."

One hand shot away to undo the buttons on his breeches while the other caressed a comforting path on her hip, before both hands returned to guide her bottom closer and onto his open lap. She couldn't see what was happening, only merely feel it all. If she had seen, no doubt she would have laughed to have seen him sitting there with his breeches around his ankles. But instead, her fingers explored his bare chest, her thighs wrapped around him, and her lips sought out his flesh to kiss again.

For several minutes they remained pressed together exchanging loving kisses. It would have stayed that way but she had the overwhelming need to undulate against his body, to seek out the hard flesh that would yield to her softness.

"Oh yes," he groaned out when contact was made. His moans turned louder when entrance was granted and maintained. "I love you."

But she didn't seem to be paying him any heed. Her hands were firmly placed on his shoulders as leverage, her knees digging into the mattress behind them, and her focus on seeking the nirvana she had reached on another occasion. His rigidity was all the more pleasing for aiding her quest.

"That's it, my love," he encouraged. "Oh yes. Like that."

With a few growls and whinnies, she voiced her joy and accomplishments. _This is wonderful. Yes, oh yes_ , her inner voice agreed.

She shut her eyes against any image that might break the spell he had woven over them, letting the soft puffs of breath she exhaled dance over his adoring face. After many minutes he gave a happy gasp as she clenched around him, warbling out a song of completion. Only then, like before, did he move; holding her torso close whilst thrusting upwards in gay abandon, until seconds later his own unintelligible cry was heard.

Now lightly panting, he asked with concern, "Was that to your liking?"

She merely nodded, not trusting her words or voice to convey her sentiments. Propriety still demanded that she not express her pleasure; but she suspected he was fully aware of her thoughts on the matter.

For now she could be content that she had not been repulsed and pushed him away. Their experiment had been a success, and further locations to try out could now be found at a later date.

~o0o~


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** sorry for the delay in updating

* * *

 **Part 13**

.

The next few days and week flew by for the new lovers in an idyllic blur as they sought new ways to express their love. John had begun to plan the design of a special chair frame that would aid their efforts, since Donna had started to complain of pained knees; a common enough ailment known as 'housemaids' knees' among women in service. She had spent years resting on her knees cleaning various things and the effort was starting to take its toll.

Fortunately that was the only lingering downside she had encountered with their marriage so far. It was if she existed in two worlds at the same time. One world was the normal, 'bad reputation and embarrassment' evading one that monitored her life and had done so in minutiae ever since she had been a child. But the second one, the one she had recently gained, was a perfect, intimate world within the arms of her husband and beneath the covers of their bed.

When they were alone from every possible pair of judgemental eyes, Donna could allow herself to really live her life; to taste every sensuous delight, and revel in the attention her husband lavished on her. Their sexual experiments would surely draw many judgemental looks if the townspeople were aware of what they did behind closed doors? She knew that their nature certainly caused a blush to appear on her cheeks when she thought about it. It was surreal, she realised, to be in such a world, but she welcomed the opportunity to experience it with John.

Had it really been only weeks, barely two months, since she had met him and become his wife? In some ways it had felt like no time at all, and in others she couldn't imagine not having him in her life, filling her days and enhancing her nights.

Yes, he still mentioned love when they were intimate, and no, she never believed that it was more than just words to define the moment. People didn't fall in love that quickly. Well, not with her they didn't; and certainly not enough to express it. But in her quiet moments alone, during those times he was busy elsewhere in Gallifrey; she hoped and prayed that he would eventually find something in her to love beyond the acts of sex and her housework skills. Sex was certainly a thing he seemed to love a great deal, going by his interest in repeating it so often. Fortunately, it was a thing that she was gradually learning to not only tolerate but love too. In that respect they were well suited, now that he didn't make demands that made her feel uncomfortable.

This thought brought to mind their latest experiment, which had taken place using the bench in his workshop. They had blamed the heat of the day for firing their passion. All she had done to start it was take him out a refreshing glass of water as he toiled in his workshop. Nothing more than that, honest. But wiping away his perspiration and following a particular bead of sweat with her finger had somehow kick started a torrid act of discovery.

He had caught hold of her questing fingertips, brought them to his mouth, and sucked then licked her salty skin. How could she resist such an act? She had been mesmerised by his slow and sultry kisses along first her hand, her arm, her shoulder, and then upwards from her neck to land on her lips. It had taken no effort at all to crush her body onto his, pulling her down onto his lap when he perched on his stool. So she hadn't complained at all when he had risen slightly to rest her bottom on the edge of the workbench behind them or guided her feet to push against the footrest of the stool and another close by to gain a decent purchase in order to move on his body.

Who would have thought that he would be so pleased to find that she wore no bloomers at all underneath her skirt; giving him perfect access to enjoy her soft flesh as she hovered above him? Her chemise had been pulled down to reveal her breasts to his questing lips, his shirt had been removed to allow her access to feel the muscles of his chest and crush skin against precious skin. His breeches had then soon been unbuttoned and shoved hastily downwards out of the way, leaving them both more than semi-naked and aroused.

It would have been the perfect way to enjoy some afternoon delight. Their amorous groans had soon, unfortunately, turned into moans of complaint; destroying their loving tryst.

Having a cast iron vice jab you in the butt, sandpaper rub you where you really wouldn't want to be rubbed, and then resting your foot on a nearby stool being the reason why you almost fell on the floor when it tipped over during your exertions; was more than a little off-putting.

Luckily their good humour came to the rescue. As they had giggled together at the inconvenience the unsatisfactory encounter had caused, they had vowed to try somewhere a lot safer next time. Once they had reconvened elsewhere, obviously. It would have been a shame to completely abandon the afternoon as a damp squib when certain aspects of it had been exceptionally promising.

One place to cross off the list though.

She still wanted to tease him in church, given the opportunity. Just to see how he would react. It would be a fine game to play in order to distract them from the potential scowling of Mrs Caldecott and probably Mrs Brown. As it was, Donna was dreading the return to church that Sunday.

~o0o~

John had noticed Donna grimace with pain as soon as she had awoken. It might mean that there would be no further chance to experiment for a few days, so he quickly rose from their bed and set about cheering her with a cup of tea. "How are you feeling today, my love?" he asked.

She sat up and groggily wiped at her eyes. "I'm fine," she had answered, just he knew she would.

"Fine enough to face Mrs Caldecott this morning," he wondered as he bustled about with his tea ritual.

That thought made her contemplate this blip in their existence. Of course not everything could remain perfect in her life, as demonstrated by the continuing coldness of Mrs Caldecott in particular; so Donna found herself mentally preparing herself for their next encounter. When they returned to church and met her outside the doors after the service, Donna would be ready with a suitable answer.

"Who exactly do you think you are, coming into our small community, acting as though you own the place?" she imagined Mrs Caldecott demanding to know, glaring at Donna with every ounce of superiority she possessed. In this scenario, Mrs Caldecott would have taken Rev. McGregor's cautioning words to heart.

"Me?" Donna would respond in kind, drawing herself to her full height. "I don't need to think anything. I know I'm better then you. And for future reference, me and my husband," she'd add, gesturing towards where John stood talking to his friend, "we're the Smiths. Dr and Mrs Smith, to be precise, so get used to it."

Seeing the triumphant smile on his wife's face, John had inevitable asked what had caused it, so she had revealed the direction of her thoughts. He had been more than proud of her when she admitted how she planned to stand her ground.

Nevertheless he still worried about her wellbeing.

As it happened, their luck was in, and later that Sunday morning they fared a great deal better than expected, because Mrs Caldecott was noticeably absent. It was a very uplifting moment; especially for Donna, who had been suffering from familiar pangs from below her stomach.

They both went to sit down in church, under the watchful gaze of the Reverend McGregor, when previously mentioned words flittered through her mind. John felt the delicate touch of Donna's fingers upon the back of his shoulder, sliding along to signal a request. Instantly smiling despite himself, he reached up to grab hold of her lace glove-covered hand and raised it to kiss her fingertips.

"In church, Mrs Smith?" he queried in hushed tones whilst raising an amused eyebrow. "I thought we had discussed this."

Without looking at him, but keeping her gaze set straight ahead on the pastor, she sweetly murmured, "Did we, Mr Smith? My memory is so lapse at times. You must excuse my feminine frailties."

Frailties indeed! He knew she was more than capable of wielding an axe if need be, and was only coy when it came to intimate matters; otherwise she displayed all the confidence and bluster of any man he had ever met. "I shall give the matter my close personal attention once we are at home," he quietly responded.

"I'm sure you shall be suitably lenient with me," she whispered as the sound of the church organ wheezed into life.

The congregation instantly stood and burst into song with a watery rendition of the Wesleyan hymn: 'Jesus, Love of My Soul'.

Grimacing, John was aware she had teased him, as predicted, but he still wasn't sure how serious her underlying intentions in doing so were. So he held onto her arm with appropriate possessiveness and tried not to think yet of fulfilling his promise when they got home. Part of him feared he would be struck by a thunderbolt from heaven above if he let his thoughts meander in that direction whilst praising the Lord.

His thoughts were free to do so once they stepped out of the church, and would have done so; but one of the lumberjacks had immediately approached him and begged that he deal with an errant tooth that was causing him a great deal of agony. Despite the fervour of the entreaty, he was reluctant to go this time.

"Go now, Dr Smith, while the poor man is in such pain," Donna had assured him when he hesitated to go right away. "God gave you the gift of healing to be used when necessary."

What she hadn't told him was that the man's description of his pain had made her feel rather queasy, so she had no great interest in seeing the tooth pulled out of his mouth. Nevertheless, John had seen her expression and had correctly guessed that she would not be able to offer her usual support.

"Why don't you rest awhile by the river? This should not take me too long, and will not be pleasant for a lady such as you," he suggested. "I'll find an ideal spot for you to take in the view of the riverbank."

Normally she would have refused to be separated from him, but the queasiness threatened to become nausea, so she readily agreed.

With many a promise to hurry back to her side within minutes, John and the poor man in discomfort headed for his quarters, and Donna was left for the first time on her own in the town.

He had chosen a pleasant spot resting against a low brick wall that surrounded the church grounds, and the small graveyard within. For several moments she was able to enjoy this break from routine, watching this change of scene; but then Mrs Brown appeared in her peripheral vision, and she dreaded the inevitable encounter.

"Good day, Mrs Smith. I had intended to come and invite you to join our quilting circle, but I fear this might be an inconvenient time. Are you not feeling well?" Mrs Brown gently enquired.

"Good day to you, Mrs Brown," Donna pleasantly replied. "It is just a spot of sickness and shall soon pass."

But Mrs. Brown looked strangely concerned. "Do you suffer from excessive tiredness or have any other aches?"

"Only the usual ones when you eat something a little off." Donna frowned. "Is there an occurring sickness I should know about?"

"May I sit with you?" Mrs Brown indicated to the spot by Donna's side, and then joined her when given permission. "It is not such an illness that I think ails you," she confided. "As a newly married woman you may not be aware of the symptoms." She then patted Donna's hand with a great deal of tenderness.

This worried Donna even more. "What do you suspect ails me? Although I cannot think of an illness that attaches itself to newlyweds."

"Can you not, my dear?" There was another encouraging pat on the hand. "You must have thought of something. First pregnancies can be such troublesome things. You will have to be very careful from now on."

Donna's eyes instantly widened in horror. No! Surely not. "What do I do if it is true?"

"You will not know for certain for a few months yet, but if you are, pray to God that you will both come through it safely." Seeing John starting to return to Donna's side, Mrs Brown hastily added, "If you need me, you know where to find me. We live only two miles due east of your dwelling. I have been through similar."

With that, she stood, gave John a polite greeting, and then hurried away to leave them alone together.

He immediate took Mrs Brown's vacated place on the wall and took hold of Donna's hand with care. "Are you alright, my love? You look deeply worried. Do I need to talk to Mr Brown again?"

"No, Mr Smith. Quite the contrary," she confessed. "Mrs Brown was offering me her friendship. I suspect the fact of Mrs Caldecott not being here today rather worked in my favour, among other things."

"What other things?" he wondered.

"Another thing for us to discuss when we get home," she muttered warily; so he let it rest for the time being.

"Then in the meantime I shall work hard to brighten your mood," he declared. "What say you to having ourselves a little picnic? We could perhaps have a river trip."

"That would be most pleasant," she warmly agreed, and briefly fondled his shoulder with her fingertips.

His answering growl had a very pleasurable affect upon her sensibilities. If this queasiness could be kept at bay, she would actually be able to enjoy the beckoning future proceedings.

~o0o~


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** I actually had most of this chapter already written, hence the quick update.

* * *

 **Part 14**

.

The day was rather pleasant as John rowed them towards home, in order to fetch some items to create a picnic. This was just what she needed, Donna decided, a break from her normal routine and a change of scenery. The trees that lined the river rustled lightly in the breeze and swept away any remaining anxieties to plague her mind. For all she knew, this bout of queasiness was based on fatigue of some sort rather than the beginning of a pregnancy. She daren't believe it had been caused by such a thing. Not yet until there was further proof, either way. To have a child would be a long held dream come true; a precious thing to nurture and wish for with all her being. Who would even want to shatter such a fragile thing? For now, patience was needed.

Trailing her fingertips idly through the water, Donna glanced coyly up at her husband, enjoying the look of concentration on his face as his features changed in micro movements to express his every emotion. How had she happened upon such a man as he? It was God's will that she did so, because she had been certain she would have ended up as the wife of some abusive drunk. She had even planned, on the ship over, to poison him and free herself at the first opportunity. Nobody would have harmed her and got away with it.

But none of that careful planning had been needed. Instead, she had met this intelligent, kind, filthy mess of a gentleman who had brought out a different side of her altogether. There was a childlike quality to John that she found appealing, and yet he dealt with people in such an authoritative manner at times that it fair took her breath away. Add in those rippling muscles of his that were so well hidden by the layers of his clothing, and that full bottom lip of his in particular when he kissed her with passion…, well, who could fail to swoon at the prospect of spending hours of delight beneath the bed sheets. Or on top of them, she mused. The thought of sensually intimate moments with him certainly discomposed her; that was sure.

As if he were aware that he was the object of her thoughts, he suddenly beamed his customary broad smile at her, melting her heart just a little further in the process. "Are you feeling any better, Mrs Smith?" he enquired.

She cautiously dropped her gaze onto his arms, and watched with fascination as he continued to row with fluid movements. "A little, I think," she confessed. "It must have been those wild berries I picked yesterday."

"I have not been so affected," he thoughtfully considered. "Did you eat anything else, like a mushroom?"

"No. I am not so ill informed as to do such a thing," she protested. "I have only eaten the same things as you."

"Then it is indeed strange that you should feel so ill."

The level of saliva in her mouth suddenly started to build dramatically. "I do not…," she began to mumble; and then instantly lurched sideways as she retched over the side of the boat.

"Donna!" John exclaimed in horror and concern. He dropped the oars and leaned forward to rub her back in comfort. "My poor darling."

"I will be fine in a moment," she reassured him as the queasiness eased off considerably; her head still bent low over the edge of the boat.

"You are not fine," he firmly insisted. "We shall get you home and into bed, then I shall make you a cup of tea to heal your stomach. Our picnic can wait for another day."

"I'm sorry," she guiltily murmured. "I know how much you wanted the picnic trip."

He continued to rub her back, and then assisted her in sitting up straight again. "As long as you are well, that is sufficient for me."

She gave him a watery smile, basking in the glow of his concern. "I am a very fortunate woman that you think so."

"No, my love." He shook his head and lifted her hand before he gave the back of her fingers a fond kiss. "I am the lucky one, for having been blessed with you in my life."

The affectionate look they exchanged become too much for her sensibilities and she had to duck her head away; her cheeks flushed to a most becoming shade of pink.

It was the nearest either of them had ever come to expressing their love for each other when not entwined in an intimate embrace; but their relationship was growing stronger because of it.

~o0o~

Although Donna had refused to lie down on the bed and rest when they got back home to Gallifrey, John had been determined that she sit at the table and let him wait on her a while. In record time he had provided her with a refreshing cup of tea and a plate of bread and butter for sustenance. After all, she had lost a great deal of her breakfast.

She still looked rather peaky; thus worrying him further. "Perhaps when I return to Galliport I could pick you up a tonic," he opened up his conversation by saying. "It has been a fair while since I have returned there to sell my wares. Not since our wedding day, it would seem; a full six weeks if not closer to two months... Oh!" he gasped in realisation at how long it had exactly been and what hadn't happened. In all that time she had menstruated only the once. Gulping nervously, he hesitantly continued, "You could be... And I might be wrong, but... but... do you think there is a chance your ailment is more noteworthy than we had first considered?"

"Well, Mr Smith, I think..."

But she didn't get the chance to discuss what she thought it was. Instead, a loud shout came from outside.

"Hullo! Anyone there?" a raised male voice enquired from a distance.

Donna dropped her cutlery in surprise. "Who's that?"

John immediately jumped up and went to the door to investigate. The sight he saw of a man striding toward them, dressed in a long coat, hat, knee length boots, and carrying a rifle, caused him to grin broadly. All his previous thoughts were swept away as he focused on their visitor. "Webby!"

Who? Okay, that didn't answer any of her questions she was worrying about. Donna had no idea what he was on about, but she knew that her chance to quietly talk things through had gone for a burton.

Despite Mrs Brown's assurances, she was quietly fretting a great deal. Prevalent among her fears was whether the lack of a recent period meant that her fertile days were officially over; or on the other hand, that she genuinely was pregnant but about to lose the baby. The chance of a normal healthy pregnancy was low on her list of possible scenarios. Instead, all the tales of the plight of older mothers came crashing into her head, and she had to fight her reaction of quaking in her boots. But all that had to put aside now that someone from John's past had turned up.

"Who is Webby?" she queried.

"Captain Webb," he replied jubilantly. Turning back to briefly call to her, John declared, "It's Webby!"

Nope, she was still none the wiser, but it amused her to see John dash out of the cabin at a fast rate of knots as though the devil were chasing him.

This stranger, whoever he was, might prove to be a welcome distraction. She heard rather than saw the resultant reunion outside.

"Doc!" the man continued to yell at the top of his voice as he neared the cabin.

"Webby!"

"Doc!" he called out. "Good to see you, Doc!" Captain Webb greeted the man in question again as they reached each other.

"And you!" John greeted him, adding in a heartfelt clasp. "It's good to see you alive and well. Come inside. What brings you to these parts again?"

"I've just come from Gallicester. I heard in town that you had acquired a new wife so I came up to see if she is good enough for you."

"I can confirm that indeed she is." John grinned broadly.

"My, you look a might different. Another wife though," the man commented. "Of course, I thought that didn't sound like you, so I had to see for myself. Everybody knows you could not replace the fair Marie."

Donna cringed from her position behind the door. She had got up to greet their visitor but fortunately she had not got any further than that, otherwise it would have been an added humiliation. Here was the blessed Marie being dragged up and dangled in front of her face, and she couldn't stomach that sort of comparison on the best of days, let alone the pain hazed day she had been having.

Standing resolutely still, she waited for the men to appear and her whole act of blissful ignorance to begin. Thankfully, being previously in service meant that she was well versed in acting nonchalant and unemotional when faced with unwanted circumstances. Why, old Mrs Cunningham had not even been aware of the grief Donna had suffered the day she had gained news of her grandmother passing away. She was rather proud of that fact.

A bearded man perhaps a couple of years older than her husband stepped onto the front veranda and, at the insistence of John, entered the cabin. After looking around the room, Captain turned his eager gaze onto Donna. "Well introduce me, old boy. Is this your mother-in-law? How do you do," he cheerily greeted her by doffing his hat. When met with stunned expressions, Captain Webb burst into laughter and jovially clapped John on the back. "I jest, since I had heard you had taken an older bride."

Okay, that hurt. But Donna managed to softly smile on and keep silent.

"Oh no, you are much mistaken," John corrected him. "Let me introduce you to Mrs Donna Smith. This, my dear wife, is Captain Lester Webb; otherwise known as Webby. We became friends when we were in the army. We have not seen each other in many a year and have much to talk about."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Donna muttered. She bobbed a curtesy. "How do you do." It was best that she limited what she said, she felt, and let John lead the conversation.

"This man saved my life," Webb proclaimed, "and I vowed on that day that I would always repay him."

As John invited his friend to sit at the table and take one of the seats they had vacated, Donna busied herself with fetching water to heat, stirring the stew she had prepared earlier that was slowly cooking on the wood burning stove, and generally kept well out of the men's way. Apart from the odd nod of her head to confirm she had heard any question, she remained silently observing them like any good maid would do. Several times John tried to get her to enter into their reminiscing about their army days together, but she stubbornly refused to be drawn in to things she had no prior knowledge of. It was as if she hardly existed for this Captain Webb anyway, and he barely managed to thank her for the refreshments she had rustled up and offered.

Her only sign of horror was when John had suggested that Captain Webb spend the night sleeping in the cabin. No no no no! This could not be borne; there would be no encouragement from her towards a strange man sleeping in the same room as they slept. What would happen to her reputation as an honest woman if news of this ever got out? No, she would have to put her foot down and refuse to accommodate this request.

"I fear your good lady is ill at ease at the prospect of me sharing your shelter," Webb noted. "I shall sleep out on your veranda."

"You cannot do that," John protested.

"I will be fine," Webb assured him. "No bears will bother me if I remain close to your cabin and your wife can sleep safely in her own bed."

"Very well." John pouted, so Webb slapped him heartily on the back.

"I brought you a little present," he declared, and produced from the bag he had slung over one shoulder a bottle of whiskey. "We can toast your nuptials. I also brought this..." From inside the bag he brought out a squeezebox. "Thought we'd have ourselves a bit of a tune later."

It had been a very long time since Donna had heard music that wasn't inside church, so her spirits immediately lifted a little. Shame she wasn't keen to taste the whiskey; or was actually offered any.

As the music continued to be played, and the whiskey flowed freely, John had the bright idea to suggest dancing. It was on the tip of Donna's tongue to complain he had only mentioned it because he was on the way to being drunk, again; but it was their very first and possibly only chance to dance together. So she had reluctantly allowed him to cajole her to get up from her stool and lead their footsteps into a jolly jig.

He grabbed Donna around the waist and twirled her away and then back into his arms, snuggling his face into her neck before briefly placing a kiss there. She giggled within his grasp and then pushed herself away. It would not do to behave so in front of someone else; she had momentarily forgotten their circumstances.

When Webb raised his eyebrows in curiosity, John commented to excuse her, "My wife doesn't usually let me display any affection towards her in public. She is very shy like that."

More like a complete avoidance of his friend's obvious affection, Webb thought. It both puzzled and worried him. His misgivings about his friend's wedding partner were gaining more ground now. Despite him wanting John to have the loving relationship he deserved, Webb feared that the reverse had happened and his friend would end up just as broken hearted as before, if not worse, when this woman showed her true colours.

Webb took another swig of his drink and looked round to see what had happened to the woman in question. His intention was to question her about her intentions towards his good friend, but there was no trace of her in the cabin. "Where's that wife of yours got to? It's as if she is a ghost."

Donna had made a hasty retreat to the outhouse while there were still the last dregs of light outside, so knew nothing of the reasons for this conversation but the volume of the two men's voices made it very easy to hear every word.

"Mrs Smith used to be a personal maid," John explained, dismissing his friend's concern. "They're trained to creep about and draw no unnecessary attention to themselves. Being her own person again is causing her many problems."

"Just beat her until she submits to your will. You would never have let Marie entertain such fancies."

It took every ounce of her being not to berate her husband's friend for condoning such treatment towards anybody, let alone a wife, so she just glared at him when she returned.

Alas, Captain Webb was too far gone to care. "Tell how me you came to marry Mrs Smith," he encouraged John to talk, proffering the bottle again. "I am intrigued to know. How does a man find a wife out in these parts?"

John had taken a sip then slowly grinned in triumph. "We met in Galliport, when I assisted her on the gangplank of the ferry."

Please don't tell him, she silently begged. Don't reveal my shameful secret.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** this chapter is slightly longer than usual thanks to a waiting room stint.

* * *

 **Part 15**

.

Unfortunately Donna's pleading looks went completely unnoticed by her husband. Instead, John leaned closer to his friend and confessed, "She had been sent to marry another but I stole her."

A peal of laughter burst out of Webb. "You sound like the hero of a romantic novel," he teased. "Did she seduce you into marriage?"

"You could say that," John admitted, causing Donna to gasp in fear of what would be said next. "I noticed her wonderful ginger hair first." His eyes slowly blinked as the whiskey weaved its magic spell upon him. "Who would have thought my luck was in that fateful day? She had mistakenly been assigned me as her husband, and told me she had come to Canada as my mail order bride."

There was an inaudible whimper as Donna dug her nails into the palms of her tight fists. She'd kill him later!

"Ah, I have heard of these agencies that bring such brides," Webby remarked. "There was one in Ontario, if memory serves me right. The ships bring jailbirds that their husbands-to-be had bailed out, paid their fines and their passages with a guarantee of marriage." Warming to his subject, Webb continued, "I heard of a captain who auctioned off one of those women because her husband-to-be had died in the meantime." Noting Donna's disquiet, he tried to comfort her by saying, "Although that happened in British Columbia and not here."

It did nothing to ease her sensitivities or indignation. "I assure you, Mr Webb that my 'crime' was to have my employer suddenly die, leaving me jobless, rather than any deed causing me to be fined or sent to gaol."

It had the desired effect of finally shutting him up.

"We should leave Mrs Smith to clear up," John suggested, giving her a brief apologetic glance. "Why don't you have a look at my workshop, Webby? I have much to show you."

"Very well," Webb readily agreed. "I have not seen any of your creations."

"Have you not?" a surprised John was heard to say as he led his friend away from Donna, giving her a much needed respite.

Phew! She let out a long steady breath. It had been a long time since she had had to guard her reaction like that. It was with both surprise and regret that she found she was still able to do it.

Their voices faded away into the distance, although she caught the odd snippet of conversation every now and then. No doubt John was trying to find a way to explain the special chair he had started to design and build to aid their sex life, judging by his raised and blustering voice. Donna felt her cheeks blush with embarrassment at the mere thought of it possibly cropping up in conversation in front of her. If it did, she would deny all knowledge of the chair.

Making the most of her solitude, she cleaned and tidied away the items on the table; and then considered her next move regarding Captain Webb while she rested as best she could.

~o0o~

Giggling footsteps could be heard to be approaching the cabin sometime later, so Donna opened the door to see what had kept them so occupied for the last thirty or forty minutes.

Captain Webb and John appeared in the gloom of the fading day, holding each other up as they swayed under the influence of the alcohol they had consumed. Donna stood outside the doorway glaring at them both, hands on hips, ready to lash out if need be.

"Good evening, Mrs Smith. Are you still awake?" John cheerily greeted her.

"Mud. You're covered from head to toe in mud," she observed in clear disgust as the light from the internal lamp illuminated them. Evidently they had also been down to the river and larked about on the bank, bringing half of it back with them as a souvenir. "It will take me an age to get you cleaned up."

"Indeed it will." John immediately turned to his friend to relate in glee, "Did I tell you, Webby, about my wife taking me in hand? She took great pride in bathing me. My, that was an experience."

He couldn't be about to reveal their first intimate moment. He could not! "Shush, Mr Smith," she warned him.

"Why?" he wondered petulantly. "Am I not allowed to broadcast your many virtues?"

"No, you are not."

"Uh oh! Doc, it sounds like you are under the thumb, and you cannot have that," Webb commented, and then burst into a fit of the giggles. "We were only having fun, woman," he forcefully aimed at Donna.

"Do not speak to my wife in such a manner," John slurred. The threatening nature of his words was completely ruined by him staggering sideways and then grasping the balustrade of the balcony to stay upright.

"But she is merely a maid of no standing," Webb argued, holding out a hand to wave her off. "A mail order bride cannot be considered in the same light as poor departed Marie. Now, she was a true beauty and love in your life."

"No no no no. Well, yes. Some of that's true," John acknowledged, nodding his head. "We should… we should do something." He obviously had no idea where the thought was going to take him.

"We should drink to that," declared Webb, and he held up an earthenware flask holding some intoxicating substance or other. "To Marie!"

"To Marie!" John echoed as he watched his friend first quaff the booze and then offered it to him to drink.

Donna remained stunned as the pair threw friendly arms around each other's shoulders and lurched forward into the cabin, almost kicking the door closed behind them. There was no way she would sleep inside the cabin with Captain Webb being there too. Horror the thought. Two men and her sleeping in the same room and one of them not her husband…. It would cause a scandal she would never ever recover from.

And as she stood there contemplating what to do next, the words the two men had spoken bit deep into her heart. Merely a maid of no standing, was she? Well, she wasn't about to let being known as just a mail order bride below consideration, especially in comparison to Marie, the wife who had spurned his attentions and threatened to kill him at the first opportunity, to define her. Normally she would have stormed in and demanded their respect, but these two drunkards were incapable of listening to any words she could utter. And there was something about Captain Webb that made her extremely uncomfortable. Something threatening that went beyond his ability to be a bad influence upon her kind, gentle and loving husband.

It was best that she stay well out of his way, she decided.

But where could she go? Then she remembered Mrs Brown's invitation…

~o0o~

It had seemed like such a good idea; head east and walk for about half an hour before she arrived at the Browns' homestead. That must have been an easy hour ago, the terrain was exhausting, and she had no idea which direction she was walking any more. To top it all, she had fallen down some sort of an embankment, hurt her knee, and she seriously wanted to cry. Not the ideal way to turn up on somebody's doorstep.

For a moment she thought she had heard a shout, but it was probably an owl or something. It was so hard to tell within the woods that surrounded their estate. Sound echoed in all directions, and the canopy above hid the moon from view. The earlier clear moonlight had faded away, so she had to feel her way along from tree to tree, and shrub to shrub. It would serve her right if some hungry wolf leapt out and had her for its supper. In that moment she would gladly let it take her to spare her from any further humiliation.

Had John even noticed she had gone? Or was he lying in a drunken stupor, ignorant and uncaring? She sobbed at the thought that she had not wished him goodbye but had stalked away in an angry flurry. Her mother had always said that she was prepared to cut off her nose to spite her face.

A strong gust of wind whipped up at that moment, bringing with it a familiar fragrance. She sniffed at it. Yes, she knew what that was. There was a fire nearby. And a fire meant people; possibly the Browns, and Mrs Brown in particular. Turning her head, she was able to follow the scent; and within seconds she broke through the treeline in order to see an open space, within it sat someone's home. One she had never seen before, so at least she had not gone in a full circle.

"Mrs Brown," she murmured, and stumbled onwards.

~o0o~

"Mrs Smith?!" Mr Brown exclaimed when he opened the door to her knock. "Is there some emergency?"

"No," she gasped out, trying to catch her breath. "Mrs Brown suggested I call in."

"Mrs Smith!" Mrs Brown cried out in shock, appearing from behind her husband. "Oh my goodness. Whatever has befallen you?" She grabbed hold of Donna's shawl and gently dragged her inside. "Come sit by our fire and rest a while."

"If it isn't too much trouble," Donna gratefully murmured.

"You gave me a fright," Mrs Brown admitted, "to appear at such a late hour."

"Did you fall through a bush?" Mr Brown openly wondered, taking in her state of distress. "Mrs Brown, make the poor woman a drink. Perhaps then she can explain."

"I will try," Donna responded as she watched Mrs Brown bustle about. "You have a lovely home," she commented.

It was certainly bigger than her husband's dwelling, filled with more worldly goods. More evidence that he hadn't exactly been looking after himself properly. Already she missed him desperately and wished that she had not ventured so far. But while Captain Webb was heavily influencing his behaviour, she had no intention of returning; not unless death itself was visiting and keen to take him away.

"Mrs Smith?" Mrs Brown softly enquired, touching her hand and bringing Donna out of her musings. "You seem most distressed and in a state I have never seen before. What happened?"

Should she tell? What choice did she have if she wanted to be accepted? "A man came to visit, an old army acquaintance of my husband. He was most unpleasant towards me, and I cannot sleep in the same room as him; I cannot," she explained. "So I left to come here."

"But how did you become so dishevelled?"

"I fell," Donna admitted. "And had to fight my way through some bushes to get back to the top of the ridge."

"Did you hurt yourself badly?" Mrs Brown asked, running her hand along her friend's arm in concern.

"Just a little," Donna supplied. "My ankle hurts."

"You've scratched your face too," Mrs Brown pointed out. "I shall fetch some warm water and bathe your wounds."

"There's no need," Donna tried to halt the kind actions.

To her surprise both Mr and Mrs Brown smiled at her in genuine warmth. "We will soon have you as good as new," Mr Brown tenderly assured her.

Their friendliness allowed her to finally sit back and relax. If only she could be sure John was okay and not at the mercy of Captain Webb's excesses.

~o0o~

They had fallen asleep at the table, drink slowly befuddling their brains and slowing their movements. It had been the worn warm hard press of wood against John's cheek that woke him when he had tried to turn his face and it blocked all chances of breathing. He woke with a start and instantly reached out for his wife's consoling presence. "Donna."

She wasn't there. Instead, his questing fingers found a solid inanimate object rather than her soft tender flesh; proving something strange was happening. Lifting his head up in confusion, he tried again. "Donna?"

Still no response, so he forced his eyes to properly open and survey his surroundings. To his dismay she wasn't there and he wasn't even in bed. "Donna?!" he wailed more loudly, hoping she would call back from somewhere, taking away his growing fears.

There was still no response and no sound other than the steady breathing of Webb snoozing on the other side of the table; his head thrown back against the support of the chair he slumbered in.

John pushed himself upwards and tried to stand. He was a little unsteady but the fuzz in his head wasn't as bad as it initially had been.

"Donna!" he called out more plainly as fear gripped his heart. Their bed had not been slept in and when he pushed himself to the cabin door there was no sign of her outside. Where had she gone?

It took him another ten minutes of searching to decide that she really had gone. The mounting panic within him threw accusations into his mind to act like grenades. He must have upset her dreadfully with something he had said. His memory supplied the fact he had mentioned stealing the bride of someone else. Had he revealed something more intimate during the time after that? He knew how sensitive she was about maintaining a sense of decorum and privacy; thoroughly trained in it since the age of twelve. Had he really revealed something so abominable that she wanted to up and leave him? Evidently so.

His butt hit the edge of the veranda step as he slumped down in resignation.

Their marriage was over. He was all alone again.

How could he have been such an idiot?! He _KNEW_ that he still had to tread carefully with some issues, so why had he risked their chance of happiness by upsetting her? And they had been happy together in the last few days; very much so. His world had felt complete as he basked in the glow of their union. It was as though the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only them as they danced beneath the stars. There had even been a hint of future happiness in the form of a beckoning dream of forming a family together.

But instead he had frightened her away.

She could be anywhere, he realised; in the river, trapped in the woods, attacked by a wild animal, abducted by a stranger to fulfil his own perverted demands…. The list went on and on in his head as each horror occurred to him.

He had to find her, he resolved. If she didn't want him anymore at least he could make sure she was safe and well. She deserved every ounce of possible happiness life could supply. He would even find a way to fund a journey home across the Atlantic back to London and her family if she so wished. Anything would be promised or offered if he could only see her again and know she was okay.

"Donna. Donna!" John fretted. "Where are you?" He cast his gaze forlornly around the cabin again having searched every nook and cranny.

His friend had finally roused himself some minutes beforehand, and watched him flit about. "What are you worrying about, Doc?" Webb queried, totally unconcerned with the situation. As far as his experiences went, women came and women disappeared again with the same casual air. There was always a fresh supply to enjoy if you paid handsomely enough. "Mrs Smith will turn up when she is ready to."

"Are you mad?!" John threw at him, instantly flushed with anger. "Do you not understand? Anything could have happened to her. She could be lying hurt somewhere, dying at this very moment."

"You exaggerate…"

"I do not!" John interrupted, now furious. "She isn't like us, all rough and ready. She is a true gentlewoman."

"Pft!" Webb scorned him. "You're speaking like a man newly in love."

"And what if I am?!" John blazed back. "I was lost as soon as I set eyes on her, if you must know. I knew it could never be the same for me again when she took my hand on that gangplank. When she came back to me to mention marriage, I was sure my luck could not be that fortunate," he explained. "I had to restrain myself from offering to marry her on the spot, and did everything in my power to waylay the decision because logic says it should have ended badly."

"Did it?" Webb needed to know.

"Of course not," John fervently denied. "It got better and better."

His thoughts strayed to the day before, when she had peered down at him with such adoration as they moved together in the height of passion. Her body had been so welcoming after their ardent kisses and his careful attentions. There had been a sheen of sweat upon her flushed skin, her breath came in growls and grunts of satisfaction, her cheeks had turned a most becoming shade of pink, and her full breasts had swung so enticingly in front of his face that it would have taken a devastating act of nature to stop him from feasting on her body. Add in her long ginger hair framing her assets so beautifully and he had to fight to halt his beckoning completion. The mere thought alone had him instantly hard and desperate to be with her again. How could he fail to love her with all his being?

He had been acutely aware how beautiful the moment had been between them as they hurtled towards a succulent dual orgasm, but he would never have suspected it could have been their last one. How would he cope without her? A sob immediately rose within him.

"We adore each other," he murmured breathily.

Seeing his friend's face crumple in despair, Webb touched his shoulder briefly in comfort. "We can find her. In which direction is she likely to have gone?"

Lifting his head in hope, John answered, "She recently made a friend. Mrs Brown."

~o0o~


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** we're almost at the end; although my muse keeps insisting on adding bits in again.

* * *

 **Part 16**

.

A heavy gloom hung over the awakening day. Dark clouds threatened to drop rain at any moment, giving the day a mood that fitted in perfectly with how she felt.

It was if she had been sitting desperately by the window, waiting for her husband to turn up; which she most certainly had not been doing, Donna fervently told herself. All she had done was glance out of the window at the right time and recognised his silhouette in the distance.

"Dr Smith has come," she gasped out as the sight propelled her out of her seat.

"Who?" Mr Brown had queried, dropping his knife and not noticing it clatter onto the table top as they sat eating their breakfast. "Mrs Smith," he kindly spoke to her, "do not worry. I shall speak to him on your behalf." He reached out to lay a consoling hand briefly on her arm.

Her hand had risen to rest on her chest to calm her wildly beating heart. How would John react towards her? Her greatest fear was that he would be angry enough to dismiss her from his life. If that were the case, she would do her best to bear it with dignity; and yet she immediately sent up a silent prayer to heaven that it not come to that.

It was impossible to break her gaze as she watched him stride nearer through the early morning mist, looking like an avenging angel. Or perhaps it had been her imagination that defined him so. "He is not a violent man," she heard herself defend him. "Far from it."

"I was not thinking of Doc," Mr Brown admitted, now standing next to her. "My misgivings concern his companion."

"His…?" she had begun to wonder, when she turned her head slightly and finally caught sight of the man who trailed after her husband along the access road they plodded along. Captain Webb had accompanied him on his journey. Her spirits instantly took a further nose dive, and she gripped the crucifix around her neck tightly within her fist. This did not bode well. "I see the captain has come too," she tried to force herself to calmly say.

Alas, Mrs Brown was not fooled by the gesture. "Stay here with me, Mrs Smith, and let Mr Brown deal with this," she suggested.

The words would not come to her, no matter how much she tried to move her mouth. Donna was distraught that she would not gain the loving reunion with her husband she had envisaged. "Very well," she conceded with a nod of her head.

What else could she do? If Webb still held sway over her husband, she was doomed anyway, so Mr Brown might as well plead her case than any other.

"Wait here," Mr Brown ordered, having shrugged on his jacket and donned his hat. Then he shot Donna one last smile of encouragement before he stepped out of the Browns' home.

From their position by the window, both Donna and Mrs Brown watched his progress towards the two men. They exchanged a greeting, an introduction was made and then handshakes given. It was all very civilised. Donna knew exactly when her name and confirmation of her location was given because John looked directly at the house with longing and determination. Or had she imagined that aspect too? Only time would tell.

The men continued to talk for a little while, each taking it in turns to speak, but it was only Webb that caused the bile to rise up into her throat, and the urge to slap him into the other side of Christmas. All he did was smugly nod his head and seem to stop John from walking forward towards the house.

Finally, all three turned to face the house and walked forward. In a few short strides they reached the front door, and Donna's breathing became more rapid as her fate neared. It was only the gentle touch of Mrs Brown that stopped her from hyperventilating and swooning to the floor. When the door latch rose and the men stepped into the house both women were standing together as a united front.

It was John who spoke first. He swept his hat off and held it hesitantly within his hands. "Good day, Mrs Smith; Mrs Brown." His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips, and Donna found herself remembering what it was like to taste his mouth when they had been alone. "I trust you are well?"

"Very well, thank you," Mrs Brown politely responded, bobbing a curtsey in greeting.

By the side of her, Donna equally bobbed but was unable to say anything yet beyond merely mouthing a response.

The action saddened John greatly. Why had she not flown into his arms? Did she not want to return to his home even though she had momentarily seemed pleased to see him? He shifted the hat within his grasp while Mr Brown introduced Captain Webb to Mrs Brown, paying little attention to how his friend was being received. All his focus was on his wife as he tried to gauge her reaction.

Behind him, Webb apologised for disturbing their breakfast, and the Browns waved the disruption off by offering refreshments. But John didn't care about any of that; all he wanted to do was get closer to his wife. He needed to confirm that she was still alive, that she was safe; so he took two steps nearer before pausing to shyly regard her. "Mrs Smith," he quietly spoke to her. "I woke to find you had gone."

"I know," she answered meekly, not looking at anyone else but him. His broken expression made her want to throw her arms around his shoulders and offer any comfort he required; but the continuing presence of the others, particularly Webb, halted any movement she would be liable to make. "I came here, to the Browns."

He nodded in agreement. "I guessed that had been the case," he confessed, pleased that the Browns were doing their best to distract Webby from saying anything. "Please tell me why you left," he pleaded.

But he didn't get his answer. Instead, she shook her head, and glanced meaningfully at the captain. "Mr and Mrs Brown were kind enough to let me stay the night."

"You are welcome any time, Mrs Smith," Mr Brown quickly assured her from across the room. His heart ached for the plight of his friends the Smiths as they stood awkwardly in front of each other. Normally he saw them clasping each other's arms with great fondness in public, so to see them being stilted was a very sad affair. "Perhaps you would care to show Mr Smith our prize sow? She is definitely worth the visit."

Before Donna could even open her mouth, Captain Webb piped up with, "Any beast that is fit for eating is worth the trouble of seeking out. I would be interested in accompanying them to see your prized possession."

Mrs Brown shot Mr Brown an anxious gaze, but he was already on the case. "Indeed you should, Captain Webb; but first I would be very interested to hear how you came to be such firm friends with Doc here, and your tales of overseas in the army."

While Webb tried to insist otherwise, Mrs Brown shooed John and Donna out of the door as though they were errant chickens who had invaded her kitchen.

"No, I insist, Captain Webb," they heard Mr Brown proclaim as the door was shut on them and they stood facing each other in the fresh air.

If they had known how put out Webb was by the omission, or that he was shocked to see how Donna had reacted to seeing her husband, they would have been heartened. He had assumed Donna cared little for John, but it was evident that she was holding herself back from leaping upon him in glee.

"A prize sow, you say?" John pondered, staring at her expectantly.

Donna blushed beneath his scrutiny and the evident set up. "She is out in the barn. I shall lead the way."

For the first time in many weeks they walked side by side rather than arm in arm; and they both missed the contact enormously. He was very aware that he had to be on his best behaviour as he slowed his gait to keep pace with her, even though he longed to sweep her into his embrace and beg forgiveness. No, he had to let things take the pace she required rather than him, as always. Yet he needed to talk to her about something, anything, rather than have an empty silence between them.

"I trust you slept well," he began with.

"As well as can be expected," she acknowledged. "Did it take you long to journey here?"

"A little more than forty minutes," he supplied. "I would have been quicker without Webby asking so many questions."

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "How so?"

"He erm…" John rubbed an anxious hand across his nape as he tried to determine how much of a hindrance his friend had been and whether he should reveal that they had almost come to blows. Specifically, he had grabbed Webby at one point and threatened to punch his lights out if he continued to question the character of Mrs Smith and the necessity of their journey. "He differs a great deal in his opinion at times."

"You mean he does not like me a great deal," Donna stated. When there was no denial forthcoming, she added, "It was evident from the start that he cared little for your current choice of wife."

"I'm so sorry," John immediately apologised.

"It is not your fault," she commented. "After all, I am an acquired taste at the best of times."

"That is not so," he insisted, stopping to grasp her shoulders and turn her attention fully on to him. "You are exceptionally easy to like."

His sincere expression tore into her heart and made her ache to be held within his arms again. "Am I?" she softly asked. Those doleful brown eyes of his would be the death of her one day; she was sure of it. "I wish that were so."

"Oh Donna," he murmured, easing her body closer. "How can you doubt such a thing? Am I not the living proof of your attraction?" Evidently she did doubt, because she continued to stare at him with incredulity. "I offered to marry you within hours of us meeting."

"That's because you were rather forced into it; and because you are nuts, obviously."

"No no no," he began to deny her modest dismissal; but the heavens decided to open up at that very moment, and large droplets of water descended upon them. "Quick! Into the barn," he demanded, grabbing hold of her hand to drag her into the dry interior that beckoned from a few strides away.

It wasn't far to run, but the ferocity of the downpour had them soaked within seconds; and they burst through the barn doors with an enormous amount of relief. It was soon followed by an overwhelming sense of cold as their body heat tried to escape.

The rain had teemed down, soaking through her clothing, causing rivulets of water to cascade down their bodies. She shivered and longed to be home with him back in bed, but she remained stubbornly where she was when he once again tried to manoeuvre her body so that she closely regarded him. It was time to face things in private.

"Please, come back to Gallifrey with me," John quietly begged. "I do not understand why you ran away. Was it something I said or did to you? Tell me."

"I cannot," she replied with a reluctant shake of her head. "I have to know; about Marie. Did you beat her?" she forced herself to ask.

"What! Why would I have beaten her?" he denied. "I told you all that had happened between us to cause her to hate me. I never raised a hand in anger. Where did you get such a notion?"

"Captain Webb," she simply answered. "I overheard him talking to you."

His face paled. "Donna," he carefully began, "I may have acted abominably towards my late wife, hurting her with my selfish ways, and causing her much distress, but I assure you that I never, would never, have beaten her. It is not within my nature to do so, and I thought you knew that."

She did, but it gladdened her heart to have it confirmed from his very lips. "I do now," she confessed. "Then why did he say you would have berated Marie?"

"Oh." Now shamefaced, John turned from her judgemental gaze. "When I got home from the army I was a little abrasive, more than arrogant, I suppose; and Marie slightly feared me. I had not realised how much until later when I had mellowed but she still cowered at my touch." He lifted his head to plead with her. "Please believe me when I say that I am a changed man who has tried hard to pay for his crimes. I should have been mindful of her sensitive nature rather than selfishly ignore her needs."

"But you said that you loved each other, very much."

"I did," he agreed. "Ours was a first love."

This news saddened Donna even further. "First love can never be exceeded. Even I know that."

"It has a special place in our hearts," he granted, and used his fingertip to gently lift her chin up so that he could look directly into her eyes. "For a while she loved me, despite it not lasting."

Those amber ringed blue eyes of hers held a trust he thought he had already lost; but her following words broke his heart. "You hold all that love for her within your heart still. I understand that and cannot compete with her ghost. It was wrong of me to even try."

He frowned in confusion. "Donna, love that is not fed withers and dies. I have already experienced that but with you there is new hope in my life. And if I am very lucky, perhaps you could one day…," he murmured as his voice faded away.

Tenderly, she reached out to touch his cheek and wondered, "What could I do that you want?"

"Love me," he near whispered, "please; despite my sins."

"Love you?" she echoed in shock. For this was the very thing she had been dreaming he would want her to do.

He gave a defensive sniff. "I know, I know," he derided himself. "My past sins are unforgivable, but I have love enough for the two of us to see us through a happy marriage, given the chance; because I do love you, Donna. I fear you do not believe me. Our relationship is so new and unexpected. Someone like you could have had any suitor you desired."

That was it, and Donna involuntarily snorted in scorn. "Any suitor, you say. If that were true I would not have had to travel half way around the world in order to find someone who considered the possibility of marrying me out of the kindness of his heart. What on earth makes you think I could pick and choose?"

His hands grabbed hold of hers to express his sincerity. "Do not speak so badly of yourself; please do not. If ever there was a brilliant, talented and beautiful gentlewoman who captured my heart without even trying, it is you, Donna Smith. Perhaps I do not say it enough, so I will repeat myself. I love you. I am so proud that you became my wife, for I adore everything about you."

"Everything?" she queried sceptically.

"Everything," he insisted with a grin; and reached up to caress her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Even when you tease me so much in church that I fear God will come down from heaven and smite me for being so happy."

"That is an awful lot of loving," she calmly noted.

"Indeed," he agreed.

"In that case, it is extremely fortunate your feelings are not unrequited." Seeing his mouth gawp open, she couldn't resist continuing her teasing, "That's right, Doctor John Smith. I have grown rather fond of you too. In fact, I am able to declare that I love you."

"You love me?" he almost whimpered in disbelief. "Oh my." He instantly let go of her hand, placed both his arms around her body and crushed her close to his chest. "Oh happy day," he gleefully whispered; right before he gave in to his compulsion and kissed her, with all his might.

"It's still a bit wet out there," she reminded him a few minutes, numerous declarations and several kisses later.

"Then I shall have to keep you with me, right by my side, keeping each other warm until we can even consider leaving this barn."

"Despite the smell of that pig?" she joked.

"That just adds to the fun," he retorted. "It IS a prize to behold," he saucily continued, and then dragged her down onto a bale of hay.

~o0o~


	17. Chapter 17

**Part 17**

.

Mr Brown was not pleased with the way his 'babysitting' duties had gone. It had taken all his powers of persuasion, and quite a few that depended only upon politeness, to maintain Webb within his house. The man had instantly wanted to leave and seek out Doc when that would have been disastrous for the Smiths' reunion and future marriage.

In the end, Mr Brown had allowed Captain Webb to spy on them through the window, on the proviso that he not step foot outside in their direction unless he wanted to feel the scorn of Mrs Brown. She, in return, had pointed out a long bladed knife and a rolling pin and then threatened to pick them up to wield them about in a most dangerous manner.

"Let me show you the view of our small holding from our pantry window, Captain Webb," Mr Brown had begun his suggestion; leading the man away. What he hadn't told his wife was that it afforded a most informative view of the barn and the occupants just within its confines. Fortunately further into the barn remained a mystery unless you were personally standing in it; a fact that soon became a welcoming one.

Webb had stood mesmerised as they caught a glimpse of his friend Doc and his wife. It wasn't crystal clear what their actions were, for the interior gloom of the barn prevented that, but it was certainly possible to accurately guess that the embrace they shared was a little more intimate than he had anticipated. In particular, at one point Mrs Smith could easily be seen to mouth loving words to her husband, and express those feelings with appropriate gestures; ones she would never have carried out in public.

Sharing a knowing look with Mr Brown, Webb knew he had been given irrefutable proof that Mrs Smith cared deeply about his friend; wiping away all the doubts he had had about her motivation for marrying Doc.

They had stood watching right up until Doc had grabbed his wife around the waist and pulled her down, unseen, onto a bale of hay. Both men had jerked in surprise, but only Webb felt suitably chastised. And he was feeling a little aroused, if he were honest with himself; which he had no intention of being for some time. Voyeurism did not come easily to him as a habit to permit; especially where his old army friend was concerned.

"Perhaps we could partake of a spot of tea or something now?" he suggested to Mr Brown, who was more than willing to vacate their vantage point.

There was a silent agreement between them that they would never speak of this overseen incident again. Certainly not in front of the company of a lady, that was for sure.

On seeing them return to her company, Mrs Brown had thought that Mr Brown had had stern words to persuade Captain Webb about his attitude towards the Smiths, so she smiled in welcome and put the kettle on.

~o0o~

Things on the bale of hay were hotting up. In his desire to repossess his wife, John had squeezed and caressed every asset he could lay his hands on whilst yielding to his need to mouth her soft tender flesh.

"Mr Smith!" Donna cried out in distress. "We cannot carry on in such a manner in public."

She smacked his shoulder hard and tried to pull her skirts back down to where her ankles were. Instead of being contrite, he merely chuckled and halted her progress in covering herself up. There was no way anyone could see them without purposefully spying on them, and he longed for his bride to relax and let things take their natural course.

"On the contrary, we are in a very private place, Mrs Smith," he silkily disagreed, and slid his hand further along her thigh and up her skirts. "No one can see us."

"That's as may be," she concurred, both pleased and appalled when his mouth rested on the swell of her bosom to nuzzle her flesh. "But they could discover us at any moment."

Lifting his head, his dark sultry eyes promised many delights. "Then we need to relocate. Come home with me, Donna," he huskily whispered.

"I cannot," she immediately answered, and saw the pain of rejection blossom across his handsome face. So she caressed his cheek as tenderly as she could while she explained, "My dilemma is a moral one rather than you. While Captain Webb sleeps in our cabin I cannot share the same room as him. It would be grossly indecent to do so. My reputation is probably damaged already and that knowledge is more than I can bear." When John went to protest that nobody local cared, she added in, "The man detests the sight of me as your wife. I do not feel comfortable with him being there."

John gasped in realisation why she had fled. "I am so sorry, my love," he proclaimed, grabbing hold of her hands to kiss the back of them in consolation. "You should not have been driven from our home by the dubious actions of an old army friend. I would insist that he leave us immediately but I fear that I may have already promised him that he could stay until tomorrow when he sets sail for the West Indies."

"Then I will have to depend upon the kind hospitality of Mr and Mrs Brown again," she determined with a stubborn lift of her chin.

"No, oh please no," he begged. "Do not leave me. I will do anything rather than lose you. Give me the chance to suggest to him that he lodges elsewhere, that's all I ask; and then he will be gone from our lives."

"I'm not sure…"

"Anything," he promised next to her skin, ghosting his lips over hers. "I cannot live without you for one more second than I have to. My possessiveness is such that I want you all to myself."

"About having me to yourself," she cautiously began to inform him, licking her lips anxiously, "you might have to share me very soon."

"What! In what way?" He frowned at her in confusion as his distracted and befuddled mind sought a reason. "Why…?"

Taking in an encouraging gulp of air, she confessed, "I think I am with child."

"A child? You really are expecting a baby?" he gasped out. "We…" He gestured between them with his index finger. "… Our very own…," he stuttered, clearly shocked by this announcement.

Donna merely nodded, amazed by his reaction. "I might be." But her own tears spilled over when he burst out with a few sobs.

"I dared not hope you were with child, and feared we were too old for it to happen. This is good news! Very good news," he cried and clasped her tightly against his body. "May the Lord be praised for His generosity."

Another searing kiss was shared between them, one that made her toes curl with desire now that he knew everything and readily accepted it all.

"Perhaps we ought to re-join our friends," she reluctantly suggested; knowing that there was a vast difference between what they should do and what they actually wanted to do.

"The rain, my love," he countered, not moving his lips very far away from hers. "It will be impossible to leave this barn until it stops, otherwise we are likely to catch a bad cold."

"Oh dear," she sympathised. "We cannot let that happen."

"Indeed not; especially if we were to repay our friends' kindness by making them ill," he whispered, sending goose bumps along her skin as he kissed a trail against her neck. "Unforgivable. Whatever can we do to entertain ourselves while we wait for the skies to clear?"

There followed a low rumbling sound outside, quickly joined by a ferocious cloudburst that pummelled the roof of the barn.

"It would seem that we are meant to console ourselves while we wait."

If 'consoling' meant that she undid the buttons of his breeches while he parted her thighs to gain greater access then, well, he was not going to argue about it. "Just to warn you, I may need to partake of your consoling nature a great deal before we have finished and the rain has stopped," he breathily informed her, right before he lowered his mouth to push aside her camisole, and then pulled her completely on top of him.

A groan escaped her lips and she clasped his head closer. Shifting her knees caused her to lose any other thought from her head beyond the feel of him. Minutes later she was panting his name whilst twisting her hips.

Luckily, the Browns' prize sow could not have cared less as she slept in the corner of her pen and didn't judge them in the slightest.

~o0o~

Their trek home was a lot more pleasant than the journey out had been, despite the rain soddened ground underfoot. During the whole time, John had kept a tight hold of Donna's hand to prevent her from any harm, stopping her from slipping or falling. He constantly shielded her from Webb's gaze or comments.

Keeping her safe on the way home had been one of his promises made as they lay intimately together in the barn earlier that day. One promise had been that Webb would not stay longer than one night, sleeping on the workshop floor and well away from his wife. Another promise had been his continuing attention to prove that Webb's misgivings about their marriage, and the ridiculous idea that they did not share mutual affection, were completely unfounded.

Instead, John had implored Donna to express every loving and tender thought through her actions. When she had baulked at displaying any such emotion in front of anyone in public, as he had expected her to do, he reminded her of Webb's voiced opinions, and that the man deserved to have their love match rubbed in his face. To be honest, John was hoping that spite as a motivation would work when mischief could not, in order to help her relax more and care less about others opinions.

As it turned out, spite was a very good starting point.

"There's my strong, fiery wife," John had triumphantly commented next to her ear at one point when Donna had ignored Webb's scowl and given John's cheek a brief kiss in gratitude when he had prevented her from sliding down into the river below.

In reply, she had flashed him a similar grin to one she had given in church before caressing his shoulder. Yes, he loved this side of her; and planned to reward her later on when they were alone

~o0o~

"Do you think he is watching us?" Donna quietly asked as John stood at the washstand, carrying out his pre-bed ritual. She nodded her head sideways towards the larger building outside the cabin.

"No," John attempted to answer as firmly as possible, although strong doubts were already settling in his mind. "Webby is getting comfy on my workshop floor and will shortly be sound asleep. He will not be bothering us."

However, she was not convinced, and hesitantly looked towards the uncovered windowpanes. Anyone could view them and remain undetected. Having shivered slightly at the thought, she decisively announced, "We should extinguish the lamps and get into bed before his eyes can adjust to the moonlight."

"Donna," John sighed as she blew out the nearest lamp to her. "I think you are worrying unnecessarily."

"Well you're not me, mate, and I don't want to be ogled by someone I'd rather had no knowledge of my naked state," she argued, moving to the next lamp. "Are you really happy that he might see that which only you should be privy to?"

That got him moving. "Definitely not," John agreed and helped her to extinguish the remaining lamp, plunging them into darkness. He then used the moment of secrecy to reach out and caress the skin beneath her chemise; delving further with familiar and intimate gestures. "Only I can taste your particular delights," he carefully enunciated.

"Please, John," she begged, "do not force me to join tonight. I'm sorry, I know how much you enjoy this…"

"WE enjoy this," he gently reminded her, and chuckled at her embarrassed huff of denial. "But I will not demand anything of you tonight. Although I am not sure how long I will be able to hold out tomorrow, once we are alone again."

"You are insatiable," she chided him, giving his shoulder a prod and causing him to laugh again at her.

"So are you if that is a proper shoulder caress," he noted.

Her finger quickly darted away in denial; and then slowly returned to lightly touch his shoulder blade. "It could be," she allowed, "at the first opportunity."

His hands threaded a path into her hair to caress her scalp with his fingertips as he became aware of her hand dipping low to rub him through his nightshirt. "Back to the old days, eh?" he murmured. His breathing keened as she took a firmer grasp of his burgeoning body. It rendered him powerless to do anything but react to her touch, plundering her mouth as she drove him higher and harder. "I love you," he declared between kisses. "Oh my darling I love you."

Despite their carefulness, Webb was indeed watching them, having made his way through the dark from the outhouse. The soft glow of lights as the couple moved about in readiness for bed had drawn his attention. And he was curious to know whether their marriage really was one based on fond regard rather than something acted out for the benefit of the neighbours.

It was easy to see why Doc had chosen the woman once she had let her hair fall down around her shoulders and her demeanour became less stiffened. Any lasting doubts he had regarding the match ebbed away as he observed them through the windowpanes.

Apart from being convinced that Doc and his wife deeply cared for each other, Webb was now also thoroughly aroused having seen numerous acts of tender love between them. With his own groan of frustration, he stalked back to the workshop and his bed for the night to gain some privacy from the Smiths.

~o0o~


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** phew! I've finally finished writing this one, so the last part should be up _very_ soon.

* * *

 **Part 18**

.

"Before you leave us, Webby, let me find you a suitable gift to remember us by," John offered the following morning as they finished eating breakfast. "After all, it might be some time until we ever meet again."

"Most kind of you, Doc," Webb acknowledged, touched by the sentiment. The hint of finality was not lost on him.

To Donna's dismay, her husband raced out of the cabin towards the workshop, leaving her alone with their guest. In order to quell her discomfort, she set about cleaning and clearing away the remnants of their repast.

It was inevitable that Captain Webb seek her out when John wasn't present. She had felt it in her bones that he would turn on her, and had been anticipating the conversation. So when he sauntered closer, she tersely asked, "How can I help you, Captain Webb?"

"Your spirits seem a little put out, Mrs Smith," he commented.

"Really?! What a surprise," she sarcastically retorted. "Perhaps your more than unwelcoming attitude towards me has something to do with it."

"Perhaps; but it was justified. You must understand, Mrs Smith, that Doc and I have been friends for a very long time; and I hate to see him being taken advantage of," he began by saying. "He suffered a great deal when his beautiful wife and daughters were taken from him, and I know you mean well but his heart is a delicate thing."

Donna immediately drew herself up to her full height. "I assure you, Captain; all my concern is for my husband's wellbeing."

"It's just," he blustered on, completely ignoring her words, "your circumstances surrounding the mail order bride business are a little worrying. You say that your previous employer merely changed their mind about your employment, but how do we know whether or not they had good reason to dismiss you on the spot? You could have married Doc purely to gain access to his fortune."

He was saying what?! Before she had even a chance to logically think, her hand had risen, a red mist had descended over her sensitivities, there was a resounding 'THWACK!'; and the next thing she knew, Webb was lying on the floor, stunned and nursing a very bruised nose.

Then her naturally sarcastic side kicked in with full effect as she gazed down her nose at him. "Yes, you are quite right; it is entirely my fault that my last gentleman no longer needed a personal ladies maid when his mother dared to up and die on him. Fancy me thinking otherwise. Insult me again and I'll punch you just as hard on the other side of your face. Have you got that? Good. As for Mr Smith having a fortune to steal, are you stark staring mad?! This cabin and land it stands on is all he owns."

Despite himself, Webb was more than impressed with her right hook and her fiery nature. He sat up to regard her from behind his protective hands; his nose hurt like the dickens. If the woman had completely proven herself worthy of his friend beyond a shadow of a doubt, he wouldn't feel compelled to goad her a little bit more out of the last dregs of vengeful spite.

"Has he not told you?" Captain Webb nasally queried on a huff of laughter, and then waited until he was totally convinced by her head shake. "He is the son of a lord. Born the wrong side of the blanket, of course; but well provided for. You have a potentially wealthy husband."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Donna gasped out and sunk down onto a chair in shock. "But I'm nothing. Just a maid," she declared. "What would my mother say if she knew? A lord, by God."

Her genuine shock rather caught him unawares. In truth, he had expected veiled lies of denial performed by an accomplished actress, or at best a confession, but instead she seemed to favour his friend for entirely different reasons. "You are certainly different to what I had anticipated when I arrived," the captain commented, now warming to her as he pulled himself up on to a chair. "I was expecting to see a young blonde bride when I came here."

She was about to agree, when his words sunk in. "Why?" she indignantly wondered.

"That is what his Marie was when I met her many years ago. Had I ordered a bride for Doc, my dear," he revealed, "it would have been one of similar tastes."

This seemed too coincidental to be above suspicion. "Was it you?! Did you arrange all this?" she queried, narrowing her eyes. "If so, I do not understand why you would do such a thing."

"I was merely offering a hypothetical situation, had I the means to fund such an arrangement. As I said, he saved my life and is my friend," he proclaimed. "I would do anything to end his sad, lonely existence."

"But to pay for a wife…," she spluttered in disbelief. "That would be above and beyond the call of duty of a friend who leads his own solitary lifestyle."

He shrugged guiltily. "I owe him a great deal. Without his skills, I would have been dead long ago. I swore on the day my fever broke that I would do my very best to bring happiness into his life."

"That is very commendable, Captain Webb; but saving lives was the main part of his job," she pointed out.

"However, saving the skin of a drunk was not," Webb retaliated. "I could have been court marshalled and shot for dereliction of duty. Fortunately Doc saved my bacon."

"Maybe, but that doesn't excuse your dismissal of my feelings," she replied, determined not to feel sorry for him in the slightest. After all, he hadn't shown her the curtesy of being respectful of her situation.

"For that, I am sorry, Mrs Smith," he contritely answered. "My manners reflect the number of years I have been away from England. Doc seemed keen on you but I feared you did not reciprocate his admiration."

For a long moment she didn't know how to reply. This was like a fanciful story. Surely this couldn't be something he truly believed? "So you said, Captain Webb. You have made your point very clearly. I assure you that my husband means all the world to me. There is not a finer man in the whole of Christendom."

Webb nodded along in agreement. "He is a first class fellow."

"Then on that we can agree," she stated.

To her surprise, Captain Webb then beamed a merry smile at her. "It may have been destiny that led you to his door, but I have never seen him more happy or content," he declared. "Please forgive me for my hasty reluctance to accept your position, Mrs Smith. My concern was for my dear friend; and after seeing his distress last night when he thought you lost… it is not a sight I shall forget in a hurry. Please accept my humble apologies."

Talk about a turn up for the books! She gawped at him for some seconds. He'd be gone soon, so she could risk being friendly for a while. But only a while, mind you.

"In that case, please accept my apologies for punching you in the face." She gave Webb a reassuring smile. "A friend of my husband's is a friend of mine; until he shows himself to be my enemy, obviously. You've already learned that my anger is sharp and my aim is deadly."

"Indeed I have. In the name of diplomacy, please call me 'Webby'. I insist." He held out his hand in invitation.

John re-entered the cabin to find his friend and his wife firmly shaking hands. "Did I miss something?" he wondered, shifting his gaze between them.

"Merely a meeting of like minds," Webb assured him. "Mrs Smith has certainly enlightened mine."

Too right, she wanted to scorn him; but gamely held in any further sarcastic retorts.

Several minutes later he left her life, clutching a wooden figurine as a memento, and she could relax again.

~o0o~

John bound back into the cabin, having escorted his army friend to the boundary of the property; feeling strangely elated that Webby had now gone. At the beginning of the visit he would not have anticipated this feeling. But as he gazed at his wife, and the upturned lift to her chin, he was struck by how very different her perception had been. Different enough to affect their marital relationship.

"Has he gone?" Donna simply asked.

"Yes," he confirmed, and moved closer. "You need not live in fear anymore; for yourself or your reputation."

"Oh John," she proclaimed and threw herself into his waiting arms. "How can you think so highly of him?"

"Shhh shh sh," he hushed her, kissing her temple in consolation. "The army creates strange situations and even stranger bedfellows, but I would rather have you, given the choice."

"Did you tell him not to return?" she pondered.

"I might have made a suggestion beneficial to our future friendship," he supplied. He gently tilted her face upwards so that he could ghost his lips over her mouth. "Now, no more talk of him; this is our time. You and me before we become three."

"Are you trying to be a poet?" she teased; although she was captivated by the swoop of his mouth.

"You make me want to be lots of different things, just to impress you."

"Prawn!" she fondly chided him. "As if you could fail to impress me."

"Then how about I try something more, something I have been yearning to test out," he huskily suggested. "I want to remove each and every piece of your clothing, place a kiss on every inch of your bare skin, and taste every delight you can offer. What do you say?"

A delicate blush crept upwards from her neckline as she mulled it over. "I say: how about getting on with it and put your mouth to good use," she breathily replied.

A finger immediately began to caress a path beneath the lacy edge of her camisole. "Your wish is my command…"

In obvious fascination, she watched him divest her of her clothing, but she forced herself not to complain when he tossed her garments aside; not that it would have been easy to do so since he had distracted her away from any grumbles with his talented mouth. Instead, he gained soft sighs to accompany his tender adoration. Thus emboldened, he headed southwards to pastures unexplored by his tongue but previously conquered with his fingers.

To his delight, he was able to spread her wide open to his sight, and dip forward to feast. When she later yelled out that he was not stop doing whatever he was taking great pleasure in torturing her with, it would have taken an impending stampede to stop him from licking and suckling her aroused flesh in that instance.

Every one of his senses had filled with her, causing him to go rock hard in anticipation of fulfilling the promises his mouth, lips and tongue had made upon her flesh. She was laid on her back in a position that gave him complete control; a far cry from their usual constraints. And yet she seemed to be yielding to him more and more with each passing second. Did this finally mean that she could learn to trust him not to hurt her? Love and hope swelled up within his heart as he gazed down into her amber-ringed blue eyes. Eyes that held such love for him in return.

His heart felt as though it would burst with happiness. She was his; she was finally his and no one could break this bond between them. "I love you," he crooned and then waited to see if she would return the sentiment this time.

Please, please, please, he silently begged.

"I love you," she uttered without embarrassment. "I love you so much." And then she had pulled him down to cover her body and meet her lips.

At first he thought it had been an accident that he had slipped seamlessly into her warmth, and that she would demand he retract himself; but instead she had grasped him closer, her hands possessively holding his pert behind in place. The message was loud and clear; so he did her bidding.

It had been the first time she had begged him to take her, but he hoped it would not be the last.

The sound of her keening in the throes of passion would be something he would eternally hold dearly in his memories. "I love you!" he roared in his release, and then panted, trying to hold in his giggle of wonder. This had happened; it had really happened.

"You're looking pleased with yourself," Donna had commented as he continued to grin at her.

"That is because I am, my love," he replied, and delicately rolled sideways to prevent her from having to cope with his weight any longer than necessary. But he couldn't resist kissing her again. "You are amazing. Words fail me when I try to express how much."

"And yet you're still babbling on," she modestly dismissed him, as he had expected she would. "Yes, that was pretty good," she allowed.

"Something for us to practise further in the future," he suggested, knowing they'd got it near perfect this time. "Tomorrow I shall take you into Galliport, to replace any items I may have damaged." He eyed her garments meaningfully. "And invest in some others."

"You're taking me shopping!" she wondered in awe, and then flung her arms around his shoulders. "I bloody love you."

"As you should," he cheekily noted, and got swatted on the arm; causing him to laugh even more.

~o0o~


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** thank you to everyone who has said something nice about this story. It has been an utter pleasure to write.

* * *

 **Part 19**

.

It was strange being back in Galliport. Last time felt like it had happened in a different world and a lifetime ago. Donna took John's hand and climbed onto the quayside from their boat.

"What do we do first?" she asked him.

"Oh, the usual," he airily stated with a grin. "Unload, get a decent price, check for any messages, buy supplies, and have a look around."

"Don't laugh at me. This is another thing I'm new to, cabin boy," she chastised him when he smirked in her direction.

To her unease, he caught hold of her hand and kissed the back of it. There was a mischievous gleam to his eyes. "Am I still a boy in your eyes, my love? I thought I had proven myself to be a man, last night."

Before she had a chance to retort, Jim ambled up to the boat and gawped at them.

"Is that you, Doc?" Jim openly wondered. "Haven't seen you in a while. You've lost the…" He rubbed a hand along his jawline in demonstration of what facial hair his friend had lost.

"Yes, I got rid of the beard, Jim."

"Makes you look a might different," Jim remarked. "Is this the wife I heard you got last time you was in port?"

Finally remembering his manners as Donna rolled her eyes in exasperation at him, John opened his mouth. "Let me introduce you. Mr Jim Peters, this is my wife, Mrs Donna Smith."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Jim said as he briefly shook her hand. He then did a double take. "Ain't this the woman that…"

"Yes, thank you, Jim," John hastily interrupted him.

"Perhaps Jim will be able to tell me what woman I am exactly once you have visited the port office," Donna pondered, causing both men to laugh.

"No don't. Don't even think it," John then cautioned Jim as quietly as he could get away with.

~o0o~

"Oh Mrs Smith!" Mrs Hannah Johnson called out as soon as she saw Donna standing near the port office admiring the view. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine thanks, Mrs Johnson," Donna readily replied. "How are you? It's lovely to see you again."

"I am well." Hannah then peered at her in interest. "How are things between you and your new husband? Hopefully he has not abandoned you."

"Not as such this time," Donna defended him. "They are talking business inside so I took the opportunity to come out and admire the view again."

"You escaped, you mean," Hannah knowingly observed, and gained a laugh of agreement. "While I have you on your own, I need to caution you."

"Oh?" Donna wondered.

Hannah cast her gaze around to make sure nobody was close enough to overhear them. "It's about that message we sent." She paused for dramatic effect. "There has been a reply."

"Then we need to collect it henceforth," Donna determined, and turned to make her way immediately to the mail office.

But Hannah caught hold of her arm. "No, you do not understand, Mrs Smith. It is not you who has gained a reply. Instead, it has been addressed to your husband."

"Oh no," Donna gasped out. "Well I'm sure he will be very understanding about it; once I explain why I went behind his back to send the message and that I'd forgotten to mention it since." It was clear that she was trying to reassure herself as much as she was her friend. "He's bound to, isn't he?"

"Of course," Hannah declared, hoping she sounded convincing. "But within the tavern…"

She didn't get the chance to say anymore because John appeared from within the port office and accidentally interrupted her. "There you are, Mrs Smith. Good day, Mrs Johnson. I trust you are well?"

"I am. Is that you, Doc?" Hannah stared at him in wonder. "You look a might different."

He took possessive hold of Donna's hand and wrapped her arm around his, proudly grinning all the while. "I seem to be getting that response quite a lot lately. Marriage appears to suit me, Mrs Johnson."

"It certainly does," she readily agreed. "Perhaps you should drink to that?"

"Ah uh ah! You won't catch me doing that again," he cheerily vowed, waving a digit in her direction. "Come along, Mrs Smith. We have matters to attend to."

They said their goodbyes and went on their way.

"Do I take it that negotiations went well?" Donna whispered to him as they walked.

"Very well," he confided, patting his pocket in triumph. "I may be able to afford a pleasant surprise for you later."

"Talking of surprises," she cautiously began, "I've been reliably informed that there is some post waiting for you but first, I would like to send my mother a letter to assure I am well."

He rolled his eyes in good humoured disdain. "More things to spend my money on," he muttered before stepping out of reach of her swatting hand.

~o0o~

The sight of the mail office soon loomed large and slightly menacing to her heightened senses. It seemed weird to enter the building this time around. To think how much her life had changed in the meantime. Donna smiled pleasantly at the clerk while John exchanged a greeting and asked for any mail they might have received.

"Here you go, Doc," the clerk said as he handed over a piece of paper folded up into forming its own envelope. "This came yesterday."

"Thank you," John absently acknowledged him as he began to read the message. He escorted her a few steps away from the building and any possible eavesdroppers. "Mrs Smith, do you know anything about someone contacting the agency?" he wondered in quiet tones, turning to show her the paper in his hand. "It would appear we are going to get a visitor."

"Really?!" she exclaimed, and immediately shushed herself; still unable to believe that such a prompt, dynamic response had been gained. "When are they coming?" The date on the message then stood out dramatically to her. "That's today. Someone is coming here today," she repeated incredulously. "I mean, today. Wow."

"Yes, I know." By the side of her, John was fidgeting with agitation. "Do you think they will say it was a mistake? That you shouldn't have come here? They might say you have to go somewhere else."

With a comforting touch on his arm, she managed to calm him down by gently saying in a low voice, "They can say what they like but I won't go and leave you. We're married; forever. Nothing can change that."

He smiled with relief and took her hand between his own. "Nothing," he agreed.

"So why don't we go and tell this bloke, whoever he is, that?" she encouraged him. "If he tries anything, we'll sue the backside off him for attempting to split us up or I'll knock his block off."

That gained the chuckle she had hoped for as they walked back towards their boat. But the laughter died on their lips when a tall, well dressed, dark haired man wearing a bowler hat purposefully stepped into their path.

"Am I addressing Doctor and Mrs Smith? You might not know me but I recently sent you a message," he launched into his explanation. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Mr Patterson; Jerome Patterson. I have been sent here on behalf of Mr Harkness and The Harkness Agency." He offered a hand to shake and flashed John in particular a flirty smile.

"How do you do, Mr Patterson," John greeted him.

"How do you do, Dr Smith. To be frank, we need to talk," Jerome insisted. "Is there anywhere we may go in private?"

"Not that I know of," John denied, fighting the urge to thump this stranger, grab Donna's hand and make a break for it. As it was, he returned his hand to grip her wrist tightly.

Jerome smiled at them reassuringly. "As the local representative of The Harkness Agency, I am here to assist you within my capabilities. To do that, I need to attain some privacy to discuss matters. If you are willing, perhaps we could go to my room? I am lodging here with the Johnsons."

Alarm bells instantly rang in her head. "I do not like the sound of this," Donna hastily whispered into her husband's ear. "It could be a scam."

He patted her hand in comfort and returned his attention to this newcomer. "I'm sure we could find a spot along the river bank, Mr Patterson, where no one can overhear our conversation and yet remain a safe distance from our transport."

"Very well," Jerome conceded. It would have to do for now. "The nature of my business is very personal, but I shall try to retain a level of discretion." He led the way to the river and kept up some inane chatter about his journey there until they had reached the now quiet quayside. Once there, he sobered, squared himself and stated, "There isn't an easy way to tell you this. The fact is, there has been a grave mistake." He set his gaze on Donna. "Mrs Smith, you should not be here."

"What are you trying to insinuate? I know we are both London born but that is no reason to try and oust us from this country," John protested.

"No, you misunderstand me, Doctor," Jerome emphasised. "I understand your confusion but I have not been talking about your place of birth. This wedding arrangement was not intended for you. The agency offers its humble apologies to you both."

Steeling himself to face the truth, John enquired, "What do you mean?"

Jerome sighed. This was even harder than he had anticipated. "I cannot apologise enough for this misunderstanding. Had I prior knowledge of the situation, I could have stopped them sending you the wrong bride, if I may be so bold as to consider such a situation. Your bride was an error."

"But I never requested a bride," John blurted out. "I had neither the interest nor the funds for such an arrangement."

"Erm… how can I put this delicate matter?" Jerome pondered, fiddling with the brim of the hat now in his hands. Finally he settled on, "There was a mix up between one man who paid for a bride and another who merely requested information. You have a potential benevolent benefactor, Dr Smith, who made enquiries to the agency on your behalf."

"Who?" John stood gawping at this polite stranger, while his wife fidgeted nervously with the hem of the sleeve of her coat. "Who would do such a thing?" he openly wondered.

Flinging his arms wide, Jerome wisely admitted, "Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to say,"

There was a likely candidate, she realised, but should she reveal who it could have been? "Excuse me but are you out of your tiny mind?!" Donna demanded to know, now brought out of her thoughts and unable to keep quiet any longer. "This has to be a joke. Then who was I supposed to marry?"

"It is no joke, I assure you," Jerome maintained. "After consulting our records, I found out that you were assigned to a Reverend Bennett in this town. A Reverend Lance Bennett; but someone in the office accidentally muddled up the requests and sent you slightly sideways, to the Doctor here. A most inconvenient arrangement, you may appreciate, especially in light of no funds being exchanged in favour of Dr Smith. I assure you that the culprit responsible has been thoroughly dealt with."

"Never mind all that; I was supposed to marry Rev Bennett?!" Donna exclaimed in horror. "But he's…" She shuddered at the thought of the creepy pastor who had carried out their wedding ceremony. There was something fishy about the man that she did not trust at all. No wonder he had glared at her when they had signed the church register. "Thank you" she muttered to John, who had gripped her arm more tightly to draw her close, and given her hand a comforting pat.

"About any money that you may be anticipating," John started to query, now worried that the Harkness Agency would expect a large payment from him in the near future. "We may need to discuss this."

The man before him dipped apologetically. "The agency is most aggrieved that such a mistake has been made, and is willing to finance any legal proceedings to annul your marriage, and amend the situation," Jerome offered.

"You're aggrieved?!" Donna almost spat at him.

"My love, do not trouble your nerves," John gently tried to calm her. "Mr Patterson, we acknowledge your concern but you have not addressed our main concern."

Jerome narrowed his eyes, half expecting to be asked for a larger compensatory fee. "Which is?"

John moved his arm from being entwined with Donna's to wrap an arm around her shoulders gave her a comforting squeeze. "What if we wish to remain married to each other?"

"Oh!" Jerome had not anticipated that. Instead, he had expected arguments and much insisting upon being released from their marriage contract. "In that case, Dr Smith, Mrs Smith…" He beamed at them, shaking them warmly by the hand as he did so. "May I offer my congratulations to you both? The agency will pay a small sum in compensation, but it is good to hear that the matter is closed in such an exemplary way."

"You mean that's it?!"

"We can stay married?" John added to Donna's question.

Jerome Patterson beamed at them, pleased that the discovered mistake had been so easily resolved. "Yes. Good day to you both. It has been a pleasure to do business with you. The agency shall be in contact quite soon."

With a merry tip of his bowler hat at them, Jerome strode away; a very happy man satisfied with his lot.

The Smiths stood watching him for some minutes, temporarily stunned. It was John who recovered first. "Well," he commented, blowing out his cheeks, "I really did steal you away from someone."

She couldn't fault his logic. "It would appear that you did. Do you think it was good luck or bad luck?"

A cheeky smirk appeared on his face. "Let's agree it was destiny. Now I don't know about you but I'm starving, and I did promise to treat you to a celebratory meal the next time we came into town."

"That you did, Mr Smith." Her smile matched his in warmth. "But you did not answer my question about the state of your luck."

He leaned in to whisper into her ear, "I consider myself _extremely_ lucky, Mrs Smith; and long may it continue."

~oO0Oo~


End file.
